


These Spooky Delights

by paranoid_flake



Series: The Invisible Strangers [1]
Category: Figure Skating RPF, Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-08
Updated: 2015-06-09
Packaged: 2018-03-21 20:10:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 82,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3703797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paranoid_flake/pseuds/paranoid_flake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One world is not enough for humans. So we made more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue - Moth Wrangling

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Combining my different fascinations for revisionist folk tales, cyberpunk, urban fantasy, space opera, epic theatre, shonen and shoujo manga and artistic skating. Some of the characters are original. The plot is inspired by the aforementioned fixations.

**Moth Wrangling**

 

 

 _Pripyat, Kiev Oblast, Ivankiv Raion, Northern Ukraine_.

 

 

Twin pupils dilated at the drawing light dawning beneath the end of the midsummer’s winter break.

 

Communal living, community activity, a dream that never fully realised with its forced tranquil pretence and traditionally constructed smile. The idyllic home living portrayed that fell shortly before people realised that it would not do to live in common uniformed poverty.  You could still hear the echoes of yesterday’s gullible screams of laughter buried under mounds of contaminated crystal dried snow and layered crimson curled twigs of 20 years ago. This was the land where people’s dreams laid to rest, after coming from all parts, pushed from corners, to live, work and play.

 

It was a poisonous creation that chased society away. Now, nature was taking back its roots. Toxic moss sprawled on the uneven cobbled ground, never to be smoothened over by a thousand trodden steps. Trees that hung like standing skeletons were soon blooming, electric leaves growing uneven flaps that would not litter the forest floor. An Old colourful paint now faded and retro, peeled into modern abstract art that would only be admired by any squirrels, wolves, and the lone bear that might venture into the grey city square.

 

A rush of stilted wind, afraid to ride on the coattails of the barren air. Not before a stream of moths flew done from the top perch.

 

They were definitely watching.

 

But in its place, these desolate quarters could be transformed into something else, if only for a short while.

 

 

They will be the audience, the witness to something that would trespass this place for a short while. A few tents would be mounted at the side, housing something wicked personnel inside, only to be dismantled at night, and gone by the morning. Only a few sites in the world would be purview to these wandering games.

 

Although no one cared to admit it, Leaven always thought that butterflies were the ostentatious cousins of moths. Moths were intelligent creatures, going to enrapture their prey with their inner beauty unlike the flashy wings poised in a fight that will never come. Not unapologetically fragile, they had sturdy wings of flight. These moths would make great variables. A cover for those smart enough to use them under the shadow of the light, unpalatable food for the faint hearted, or a huge weapon, for the animal whisperer.

 

Being a game developer is an exciting job. Getting to plan, map and sometimes manufacture from scratch should the budget allow, the terrain in which the players would go on their epic quests. Of course, much of the actual play would be digital, but the clues that sought, those could still be analog. Head game developers would normally toss this part of the competition to the lower-level executives, deemed to basic, banal, boring, to plan. Not online, not omnipresent, not on the go to watch leisurely by placing their teleglasses on. No one remembers the qualifying rounds, because if you couldn’t immerse yourself in the inner universe, you couldn’t see it. Viewers would change the channel and wait for the final stages, or worst, watch the final two groups at the last leg of the competition.

 

Leaven revelled in this. He grew up in a time where playing meant heading outside and the entire world was your (unofficial) playground. Playing the old-fashioned way, 5 stones, stick and stone, running, freezing, melting, catching. The preliminary stages would weed out all the weak teams, and this monstrous wilderness will be the judge, allowing few to qualify.

 

This one was one of the most ambitious playgrounds the Prize of Moscow Challenge (PMC) had acquired for their regional event, Rostelecom, as of yet. Better than traversing from one sly skyscraper to another in cities of glass, like there rather dull grand championships a few years back. They had lost a couple of sponsors due to lower ratings that almost reached the level of the whack to the knee fiasco. Taking out other competitors was fine, profiting in fact, something all game developers could try to manipulate and encourage. However, this one did not meet expectations, because the perpetrator had taken out a player that most sponsors had hinged their bets on. It took intensive physical therapy in special hastily built premises away from the public eye and a doppelganger within the competition to make sure nobody knew she wasn’t really in there for so time. That is the greatness in the universe, you couldn’t see the unreal, there is no real.  

 

This had to be special. For Leaven’s own personally tally, and if it made a few extra international billion coins, who else would know if he pocketed some loose change. There was only so many times you can watch players jump from one building to another, opening windows to form aerial patterns. This might even top the abandoned stone mines they had for last year’s Cup of China, where someone had gotten almost been buried deep in a sandstorm in the middle of the Gobi Desert. The upside to that was that some of the military-related corporations could test their latest simulation, mimicking a being trapped in the sand coffin, timing how long it took to almost reach the point of starved burial. PMC was able to buy itself a state of the art research facility centre in a far flung island in the Pacific, and an extra pre-cocktail session before the opening banquet.

 

Everything laid on Leaven’s slopped shoulders to deliver. PMC insisted, no needed, Rostelecom to take place and narrowly beat FinlandPlay, whom had hosted the European qualifying round, Finladia Trophy, for the last three consecutive years. This was the new home for the qualifying round, for now. Here, in this wasteland once home to a thousand human flight that will never inhabit again. A perfect place to play hide and seek.

 

No one will care to look for monsters here. Any sociopaths with a Ethernet port would be a dead man wondering in a wonderland. Whoever dared to venture here would have to use his real, unreal imagination. Leaven took of his teleglasses, his old-fashioned spectacles and squinted in the distance. You have to see the real to see the unreal.

 

The light fog that seemed to swirl, stretch its arms, palming the ground, parted like the Red Sea. From there, you can see, taking the brush in your mind to paint away the scenery. The black sombre march parade. The pitiful party of children. Playing in the abandoned maroon park. Refusing to leave, having been forgotten and forced to release their dreams. Man should nurture child, yet there is no sense of hierarchal honour bound responsibility. It was not necessarily lawlessness. There was a composed order about them, perhaps waiting to do the duty of the highest bidder who dared entreat into their unbecoming territory without much prepared back-up.

 

He wanted that very much. He did not even need their otherworldliness, their supernatural essence and their undisputed fury to the humanity that had long discarded them. They would not miss their lack of souls, anyway, this energy that should have been utilised when they were on this earthly plane. All that is left to waste when they were left, abandoned, behind here, forgotten in the midst of fleeing, chaotic moving. Leaven was just recycling what was not used.

 

He could almost fool himself that this was for a good cause. What gets left undone can be used for other still around. There was the problem, though, that substance running in their bodies. Just their poison that knowingly seeps through their vile veins. The poison, this mutated uranium, the life source of all simulation.

 

Leaven wanted this to be the best night of their lives. He could have captured them and subject these, these things, under scientific observation and experimentation until they could finally come up with a word for them. Named. Titled. Indexed. Created, by them. Placed them in captivity, in enclosures around the world for others to come and gawk. Or bend them to his will, where they get to engulf all human beings in a sea of chocking filth. The dirtiness that people detest, that people hate to be associated with their own muddy roots, will be the total ending grand subject of their meaningful existence. He may not be able to extract the uranium directly, but he could be a middle man, tracker of a secret source. He had some contacts in North America and a few more in the Far East who would kill for this pure unsaturated stuff. The power of energy.

 

One of them hooked a finger, like a gnarled scarecrow left to dry out in the fields. Will you like to come and play, it seems. Following him, weary of unsaid deals and trembling with uncontained anger. A tense electric moment before siphoned out to fill an eerie calmness. They were of another land, another time, not human, beyond human, only wanting to sponge unto their scarlet comfort.

 

It would be exceedingly assiduous to control them.

 

He wouldn’t have to. Let them wonder as they do here, only to fulfil his malignant desire.

 

Waving a human carcass flag at them like a raging matador. Drops of solvent mars filtered and plunged unto the faded grass, stained brilliant red.

 

“Come here now, little moths.”

 

“I have what you want.”

 

 

_Albay Province, Bicol Region, Luzon, Philippines_

 

 

The clickety-clack of stone against wood. Seed against board. Player against himself.

 

Those would have been the sounds he would have heard had he been using the old, worn board that now sat in the corner of his room. It was a memento he intended to bring along on his journey outside.

 

Instead, what he heard was the sound of the loud ding that announced that he had successfully executed a double step capture, from one level to another.

 

He loved playing Dama, shifting the marble-like seeds in hands, contemplating his next move, before slowly lifting one finger, to shift a pitsa into position. If he was in good hands, he could tear the board, pitsas flying from one end diagonally to one end, moving perpendicular to the other at a counter clockwise direction, or circling the board to surround the other pitsas of the other side. At nine years old, he was introduced to the wonders of Dama online, where multiple levels existed. Moves were no longer restricted to across length, he could go down and up, and even voyage outside the box, as long as he had enough pitsas to travel across.

 

This made up for many hours spent inside, playing. He had a lot of time to play, although he may not have always wanted to do so. Playing the games of the street, the call of the other children, hiding in the caves at night for the older, more boisterous kids. A boy his age should go out and seek adventures, not be immobile inside, where dust mites would sooner crawl and lay rest on his unused limbs.

 

Hearing the call of the birds outside, he turned his head in the direction of the open window. Listen to the drive of water, flowing up and down, the bumboats flowing the water drove in waves, the sun rays reflected on the foamy undercoat of the sea that hid many spectacular sights underwater. He could not remember the last time he had gone swimming, floating on along the shores, ducking his head under to look at the sand that from where he shambled looked like the glitter of the gods.

 

It would not have mattered now, the waters were probably chocking in debris. The ding of the old modem sounded, he had only a few minutes left before his time was up. Sitting in an internet café was the only way to get to go online, hear this other world, when he couldn’t see this one.

 

_That was a great move._

 

Michael felt the corners of his lips turning up. The garbled sounds churned out mechanically, but in his head, he could hear a light, twinkling sound, almost like the b sharp keys of the piano he used to strum his fingers that probably was still occupied in the town square hall. He replied right away, always eager to chat.

 

_i hope you didn’t let me go easy._

 

_I never would._

Giggling to himself at the reply, he would start believing this. As soon as he believed the stars in the sky would burn faster than it took for the volcanoes to erupt.

_That was better than your move in the last game, the one with the triple right turn into the left corner. Almost like dancing. How about another game?_

_i have to go now, got to finish packing my stuff._

_Oh, I hope to see you again soon._

_but of course. good morning._

_Good morning? It is night here. Say Goodnight!_

_you’re so demanding._

_Say it!_

Pausing to feel the shift button of the keyboard. He would make the effort, just for today.

 

_Sayonara, Kori-san._

_Goodnight, Mikmik. Someday we will know each other’s names. Don’t give it out to strangers online!_

 

Michael heard the tap, signalling that the message had travelled and his friend had received his text. Someday, he would tell his friend his real name. He had wanted to, the first friend he had made outside of the confines of his home. He had wandered around, while his elder sister who was busy selling the family farm vegetables to not fussy customers after the morning crowd, feeling his way across the hot muddy tracks and the wooden stacks of furniture that had never seen better days. Popping into the café for the air conditioner that would chase away the heat, but never the humidity, the colourful cacophony of town square sounds faded away to a more muted, grey hum of machines. Tapping his cane, he had gotten the attention of the assistant at the counter, the stark bounds of wood on wood harp in the almost soundless, sunless room.

 

He had been plonked, more like pushed onto a chair and quickly thought how to tap onto the keys, feeling his way. Curling the awkward edges of round tabs, lining the sides of his fingers with straight marks. His hands were scaled from hours spent trying to memorise the tabs and corresponding sounds that had initially been gasps and chocks, which turned to little melodies and tunes, synchronised into an intelligible symphony.

 

As soon as he logged onto the browser, he had felt his way for familiar in this foreign world where no one could see or hear you. When he signed on to the WheelofParadise website, the assistant at the front counter had chosen Dama for him to play, as it was not a team player game and did not require hand eye coordination. It had taken a while, getting used to the sounds that came out, but his after a few games, he had thanked the player for his time. The other player had messaged back and since there, he had a friend, who asked for his nickname.

 

You could pretend to be someone else, if no one knew your name.

 

His hands strayed to the side of the table, feeling for his cane as he logged of the computer. Pushing himself up, he wrapped the palm of his hand on the smooth worn cane top, feeling the grooves of the wooden head. He waved goodbye towards the counter before opening the door, feeling the unwelcome heat of the outside, setting foot in the town and bound for home.

 

He gave a little bow as he passed the clock tower, the bells tolling past 3. He was going to miss the stationary building with its same sounds. It would be a long time before he would be feeling these sights.

 

Sama-sama could be harmonious, but he yearned, in him, for adventure.

 

Even in this remote village, he was able to feel the world, however small this piece of treasure. Like the water now staining his feet, drenching the tops of his pants. The sea had probably crept in, sly and slow, flooding the lower level streets.

 

The people chatting to each other noisily in the bazaar, trying to close last minute deals, the laughter of children as they kicked a makeshift ball, the people preparing dinner for the evening crowd in the tourist establishments near the quay. All of them bustling to their various vocations in life, Michael had to find his too. Somewhere out in the metropolis, far away from Albay Province. He’s heard of the stories, of people being immersed in the online world, living their lives in the outside world physically, but mentally somewhere else. If he thought hard enough about it, it seemed lonely to live double lives, but for him, it could mean more. More doors, and more opportunities.

 

He would say goodbye to everyone.

 

All these thoughts that went streaming in his head, he could not hear above, where the usual hustle of the crowd turned to shock and fear. A couple of cries, screams, the dropping of bags, the scrambling to pick up smaller loved ones, or anything they could get.

 

Chaos would heighten his senses, if he had the required training, years of experience, which he did not have. He dropped to his knees when someone knocked him over, his cane slipping out of his hands. He tried to reach for it, but a foot stepped on his hand and he retracted his palm, hissing in pain. A stampede would only make it worse. He got up, scrapping his knees and calves, jagged as they probably were, the under of his nails crumpled with dirt. My sister, he thought. She would be in the market.

 

Lunging forward, he tried to focus his sense of direction. The fall had knocked him to the ground, driving him off course the original route. Centre his being, he felt his position. Alright, he had past the clock tower, the market was slightly uphill to the right, across from the docks. The shopping stalls should be on his left, the field to his right, he silently plotted himself in a multidimensional box, coordinating himself, like a pitsa. We are seeds in a board, only he could control and move the buildings every which way, to put himself at the centre. Northeast, he had to hid northeast to the market, then a right turn of 70 degrees to higher ground, for cover.

 

He was turning to the correct direction when someone else shouldered him down to the ground. Down he fell again, this time bracing his knees and arms on the ground, his arms slipping on water mixed with sand. The mud was getting more murky, felt more grainy, and this would stick soon. This time, he felt the person drop beside him. Someone injured, he thought. He clasped his hand around the body instinctively, before another hand slapped his away.

 

“I can take care of myself. Can you.”

 

That was a good question. He could not answer it, when there was a mighty wave that would be approaching them soon. He felt a shudder, before an arm yanked him up. A cold, icy arm, that was not prickled with goose bumps. “Hurry,” a soft cool voice whispered. “Before the water gods get to us.”

 

Who believed that they existed and sought revenge, certainly not Michael. But he grasped her hand, or more like she grabbed his arm, and ran in a direction that was most definitely not headed to the market. He stumbled and dug his heels in, trying to get this mysterious stranger to stop, his feet jutting out in the thick sludge. “It’s not, we have to go there, to the market,” he cried out, part of his voice croaked. “My sister’s there.”

 

“She’s probably gone, everyone is.”

 

She was also running towards the water, this unknown person, sinking him into the depths. He tried to hold onto her shoulders, almost apologetically shoving her out of the way. Michael did not like people forcing him into paths he did not want to be on, but in this case, he would make an exception.

 

“This way.” Not towards what would most likely be an avalanche of water that would consume them in its sea coffin.

 

Only the loud sound of the howling sea breeze and the shifting of trees to the ground blocked the words coming from her mouth, he grabbed her arm this time round and tried to race to the direction as planned. She slipped and muttered under her breath, cursing in a different tongue.

 

“It’s coming.”

 

She didn’t have to say the inevitable; he could feel the water that was once a slow, but steady stream wane a bit, drawing back. In any other places, this would leave the area bare and alone, but here, this was as lake was pulling back, receding, the arms that should soothe the creatures of the sea, alarming. It was building up to something bigger, the waters folding in to create what would probably be a huge tidal wave.

 

But he had forgotten Mayon, the volcano in the vague distance, vast and sunder, could rise with the sea. The sea that was coming, to envelop him, to bring him to other worlds. He opened up his arms to brace himself.

 

The last thought before the water could take his body, swim out to sea.

 

What’s a tropical boy doing dancing in the water.


	2. Chapter 1 - The Boy Who May Not Dance With Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One world is not enough for humans. So we made more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Combining my different fascinations for revisionist folk tales, cyberpunk, urban fantasy, space opera, epic theatre, shonen and shoujo manga and artistic skating. Some of the characters are original. The plot is inspired by the aforementioned fixations.

**The Boy Who May Not Dance With Water**

 

 

 

Walk the line, that is what everyone does. Between the shades of darkness and the patches of light, you have to meet in the middle, find the fine balance. That was where the energy was spent, dancing, flying, spinning.

Making the walk beautiful.

She opened her eyes out to the horizon before her, clear after a tsunami rain cover. She still could not believe what she had seen, and it was not because she did not want to. There were many things in her line of work that she had been privileged or unfortunate, depending on the circumstances, to witness. Violent miracles and vitriolic resurrections, painful comebacks and sudden new beginnings. This was something that should not, could not have happened, in this world.

A wall of water that almost trapped them in its heavy liquid embrace, only to be spurned away by a perfectly symmetrical arc, an invisible umbrella that sparkled brighter than the stars, that the light illuminated the insides of the sea and its contents. A 3-d art installation piece that could have been in the museum, showcasing the old traditional clay sculptures that people wondered how others did these creations. It happened, she had seen it, and she had to believe it.

Yeona knew that she had it in him to be trained, perfect his art. He could tame this raw talent, these flowing sparks into a smoulder, contained at will. He was unrefined for now, but his keen senses were alive, he could feel the pulsing beat within and had managed to take the energy it had and bend it to his will. Water, one of the more slippery elements, its bonds not quite compact, yet still joined to the other, relying on another, to follow the lead, to form a solid spring from a well. All well when his sight was lost.

He stirred beside her, the corners of his eyelids pulling back slightly in awakening. Good, he was slowly regaining consciousness. It took a lot of effort to transport him from one end to the other. She had to go slow, easy on him, not take him aback and frighten him into a corner. In better, more efficient times and instruments available, she can comb through his family history and background with a fine tooth. “How are you feeling?” She is brisk. It would be better than to waste words that would fall on deaf ears. Slipping into another language, blending in, that was her job. Seamless, in chaos.

He blinked at her, before lifting his head, checking himself in his now dry clothes.

“I changed your clothing.”

That definitely was not reassuring to someone who almost thought he would be living in a drowned world. “You-what-“

“Nothing I haven’t seen before. There is nothing to it.” It was good to be upfront about rudimentary facts, details they can sort out later with great aplomb. His raised eyebrows and arms now coming to hug his sides, as though to conjure an invisible shield between the two of them, much like the enchantment he had so happen to have handy, would say otherwise. She had to get back on more forthright ground.

“Your family’s fine. Your sister managed to get uphill on time, your brother is back home with your mother. Your family property is fortunately left untouched. You don’t have to worry.” He did not, and would not be privy to how she was able to make sure his folks got to safety. He would not understand even if she told him how.

His brow was furrowed, and he blinked quickly, and in an eerie instance, it almost seemed like those cloudy eyes were looking at straight at her. He did not trust her, heck, she would not trust herself. Distracting him, she brought him back to their current dire circumstances.

“I’ve never seen anything like that before. Have you practiced a lot, bending water?”

“Bend? What I did, what did I do, is that what it is called- “

“It doesn’t matter what it is called, it is more important that you realised what you did.”

She has gotten some answers in that respect, he had no idea of the enormity of his actions. Fascinating, putting your arms above to fold yourself inwards, hiding yourself from the world. Be brave, and lift it away from yourself, show them your strength.

“I can’t say I have.”

This boy, man, person in between, could never be a liar. He had the grievous gift of telling the blunt truth, his face was the open book for anyone to read. She knew what he said was true, as well versed as she was in human deception.

One minute she was getting ready to protect them and the next minute, he had created the crystal shelter for them, before the water could come crushing down on their bodies. Yeona prided herself in being independent and taking care of herself, this definitely had rattled her. Not so much her beliefs in teamwork and power, but in his stance. There was something burning deep inside, when he lifted his hands, accidentally to brace him and her and yet, almost graceful.

An animated dance in a video game simulation that was fluid upon micro-inspection, deft to touch, light on the tips of his body, almost balletic, but strong and swift.

“It was amazing.” That was all she could say, for now.

“How did I do that,” he slowly drawled, his voice thick and wet, even though he had not inhaled a single drop of water. He is mimicking thoughts left unsaid.

How did you manage to do that, she wondered. A boy of earth and fire, feeling his way into the slighting locked molecules, threading his being into those bonds, and just pushing his way, into the cerulean.

“That’s what we will figure out,” she said. When the time was right and they did not have all the time in the world, time is not infinite, even when travelling across, one is always living on borrowed time, no, when they could squeeze whatever time they had to properly assess the situation and factor in all the variables and simulate a similar environment, than they could understand. The priority now would be to move, away from this.

“Why didn’t I save everyone else,” he wondered.

Now is not the time for him to discover himself and have a male angst-driven crisis. Run boy run, she thought, taking a good look at his lank frame. You only have the universe to blame.

“You couldn’t have. Much like how that was my first survival in a flood.”

No, he had only just discovered this special power, this ability.

“We need to go now. Come on, sit up,” she brushed herself of, her black clothes clinging to her body like a shrouded shadow stalking her, hanging of her thin frame. She pushed her the side of her hair over her ear, one curtain drawn to reveal her face, the other left unencumbered. It was good that he couldn’t see her face, masking one part striking, and the other part, monstrous.

“What about my family? My mom, sister, brother, damn, I have to tell them – “

That would not do, they had to leave immediately, before someone else discovered this great treasure in their midst.

“You cannot, it would be too much of a shock.”

“Shock? I have to make sure they are safe.”

“I already said they are fine – “

“You said that, but I need to see – I to see that they are fine, they are not hurt, I need to know for myself.”

“They will be, I’ll make sure of it.” Yeona would be very sure to send anonymous monthly donations every third week to ensure that they would never be in want. “We have to make haste, before anyone finds you.” Finds about what you are, who you are, and the company you keep, would be more devastatingly accurate.

Now on his feet, albeit struggling in wet clothes that weighed him down, his right arm grasping for something to hold onto. His cane, of course, had gotten swept away. Who could concentrate on protecting an aid when he did not know what possessed him. “What do you mean?”

“Exactly what I said. We have to leave, now.” To somewhere we can protect you and strengthen you. “They might be scared, they are not used to these things.” From a place where misty legends still roam free, seared in the very stoned lava that dotted the peninsula, people had believed that the dreams and nightmares walked side by side. They were right to fear these gods and monsters, real or imagined. Well, today was not Mayon’s turn to have her revenge, but the sea’s. “You will have to start a new somewhere.” Here, she was going for the desperate kill. “It will be better, perhaps, to be away from your loved ones, to stay away for a little while.”

She did not lie by omission, she did not plan to say much. Yeona is a woman of few words, her face was enough to stop people in their heels, their mouths open, yet their eyes not daring to venture above her neck. But this trick, alas, does not work on a boy who depends on his other senses to make decisions. She got up and was about to hold her hand before she realised it would not matter, he would not see it, although he might appreciate the gesture. “A boy like you would long for have to find his own adventure somewhere.”

Think of it as a coming of age ritual, were amongst the million of thoughts swimming in Michael’s head. Forget that only girls were allowed to debut, and he wasn’t going to be 21 in another couple of years.

“How would you like to travel the worlds and work for me?” She had presented an appealing situation, and offer he could not possibly refused. Then again, he did just move water, no, he manipulated the molecules to form a manger for them, such that they were underneath it, he could look for better opportunities. But did he know how, this kampong boy, this boy from the village inside?

He looked up, those clear eyes not quite meeting her gaze, not for lack of wanting. Those clear eyes that apparently could not see this world for what it is, but could for what is what, with the proper guidance and care.

Under her management.

“Where would we go to?”

She was a good provider. Taking him to flight, there, that place could be his new home, if he wished to stay for a while.

“Don’t worry.” Yeona hit herself mentally for repeating those asinine words. It does not take her thing long to reassure, persuade, coerce, force someone to do her bidding, but here she is. Both of them no doubt off an adrenaline rush, she from witnessing something astounding and him from doing something astounding without looking. “We need to hurry.” Now would be a good time.  
“To where?”

“You’ll see.” Too late before she had released that little quip, she stepped towards him, making sure she made noise so as not to startle him when she grabbed his arms firmly and towards her. “You’ll know.”

His senses had come back to him. He looked up at the sound of her voice, the rustling of her long skirts. “I don’t even know your name – “

She clamped her fingers over his mouth before the words could escape to complete the sentence. “This is your first lesson. Never, ever tell your name. Under any circumstances. A name belongs to you and your own person only.”

If he was convinced, he would nod his head rapidly, he would. It is good advice that she gave, because no one should reveal details, indicators of who they are, to shady characters. They had shared surviving a catastrophic event that allowed them to divulge to each other something as mundane as names. He is caught in this game off cat and mouse, and Michael feared that in this round, he was the mouse, and would probably remain so, with this girl, a firm and forceful quietude about her.

“Are we clear. Now let me ask you. What is your name?”

“Mikmik,” Michael whispered, the syllables coming out childish and juvenile. That is a nickname he had used recently, it would seemed perfect to use as a handle. Less names to keep track of, to remember the histories behind of, and to assume the roles of.

“Short and sweet. You can call me Yeona.”

“Yeonnn-na?”

“Yeona.”

  
“What- “

“Just Yeona. Please remember it. We have to go now.” Her tone showed there is no room for rebuke.

All these names that only lasted one or two syllables, easy to remember, and also easy to forget in their seeming ease. Lost in the millions of similar sounding names, slipping between same first two letter fronts and last two letter ends, in the palimpsest that is the name lexicon. Michael supposed his was in there, and he hoped to remember it in the days to come.

 

 

 

_HKG Airlines Flight 095 Enroute From Hong Kong To Incheon, Republic of Korea_

 

 

 

Tracing patterns on the windowsill would be something nostalgic to pass the time, the scenery blurring past and flashing onto his clear eyes, never registering the debris and noise of the world. The background was of the train administrations choosing, filtering past the correct time and weather patterns, from dusk into early morning. Instead of misty cirrus clouds that would sooner bore after ten minutes of nonstop gauze watching, it changed to scenes of lush flora and fauna of a tropical rainforest, followed by the ice capes and slopes of faraway caves, anything that would apparently soothe the user. We could not stand to see the beauty hidden in the pollution, so commuters were given a static slideshow of the wonders that were previously out of reached.

But he could not see, so he would have to be content with sitting as still as possible, making sure no stray hands or feet will go where it does not belong, trying to occupy as little space as possible. He was boxed up, because he did not feel that he mattered.

He does, he will have to find it in him.

She sat ramrod straight beside him, observing him. She would be able to record her observations in the laboratory with the proper apparatus when they reached their destination, but for now, her six senses will do.

It was easy to quickly stow away at the nearby port of Legaspi City, where more people were focused at the site of the recent disaster. On the quick ride to Hong Kong, Yeona had unwittingly played the role of patient, Mikmik held part of her hair back as she threw up the rest of her lunch. The sinigang they had was not so delicious now that its contents were vomited back into a plastic bag. It was easy to hide out in the back of the stow, secluding herself behind him and wanting no prying eyes because she had he is disabled and shy, less anyone caught a look at her face. What he did not know would not hurt him.

From the plank of woods that made the sampan they were able to dock at Kowloon, where the less than illegal rundown workshops could help them make an almost valid passport. The good thing about not having had one all his life meant that they could fashion Mikmik a new identity. But simple dressing was the way to go, there was nothing to hide when it was present in plain sight. So he was given his first official papers, scanned and digitally identified. Once departing from Kowloon, they made their way to the main island, touching down to Kwan Tung Pier by ferry before hustling themselves to a taxi to Hong Kong International Airport The taxi glided down the highway, the jagged sharp ends of the hilly mountains in the distance, hiding the neon zoo inside. Hong Kong is one of the more lighted up mega polis in the Asian Pacific, and had the polluted skylights to prove it.

She placed her satelpad away in her small sling. Everything else she bought, used, then placed in any spare parts recycling bin available, or discarded. She needed only a few items, most people did where technology could shrink and leave all the bare essentials and frivolities packed and designed in a small pouch. Unfortunately, society still preferred to overload themselves with unnecessary paraphernalia. She was glad to note that MikMik seemed to adhere his Spartan way of living, quickly taking the clothes she had bought for him from the tourist stand at the airport and discarding his old, wet and what were probably smelly clothes by now.

His arms that held himself so tightly now but were aloft, held up as though these thin limbs could arm against the mighty knives that rained down on them. That would have given them a few scores for interpretation. Might, against a tyrannical force, poised like a hero in a romanticised war. If he is able to strengthen his core and condition his body, he will be fit for battle. His is the body that dances would translate across digital signals, to move fluidly in simulation. His basic movement skills would have to be assessed, to see how his limbs could move and twist them into proper positions.

The loud ding coming from a group of young children playing on their satelpads filled their aisle, distracting and unwanted. Yeona thought it was ridiculous that young children were allowed to play games so early when they should be toddling about, hands out, legs kicking, feeling the world. Even though pre-schoolers were introduced to elementary point and shoot applications, they should feel their surroundings first with the senses that they were born with before training skills they may not be bestowed with.

And game developers wondered why troupes were easily weeded out in the early qualification rounds. These teams, with members running havoc without any sense of direction, much physical strength and without a clear head for strategy or survival instinct. The old games were taught and learned on the street. She looked at MikMik’s arms against, that was much to be said about using what you had when you came into this world, bare-naked and ready to meld and sculpt into vile bodies.

The background slides stop shifting on the screen and the voice of the pilot informed that they will be touching down at Incheon. They landed without much ado, following the crowd of passengers departing the plane. Yeona held onto MikMik’s hand, guiding him in the oncoming traffic. She was sure he had not travelled in huge crowds before, and while they had quickly streamlined their journey from port to taxi to airport at Hong Kong, the crowd at Incheon was nothing if efficient, quick and could border on impatient. They would definitely need to get a cane, she filed that thought away mentally as she and Mikmik walked towards the subway. Even from the confines of the airport grounds, the sight of the numerous air balloons tied to the post, transporting commuters to nearby islands, and other airships to the different counties in the country lay spread on in a long orderly line. The metropolitan subway was a maze itself, with lines of people snaking from one end to the other to get on board trains, the tracks lining up one on top of the other.

They would have to change to a high speed steam train to where they were going, far away. She purchased a one way ticket sufficient for his journey, as they would not be coming back for a long time. Adjusting, training conditioning would take quite some time. She would also have to get him a T-Money card for travelling within the area, more logistics that she would have to arrange for her new charge.

Yeona still preferred the soul of Seoul, only because of its familiarity as part of her often ill-begotten national pride. It sang in her sweetly on days she was away, and it swelled an ache in between a lost lover and old friend when she came back. It was still a city though, and cities were sometimes too bright a star, plunging all quaint towns and little suburbs into darkness, where dreams were left to die.

Where they were headed. Unfortunately, it was not to be their final destination. The cries of hellos and goodbyes heard at any transit point, the click clacks with matching rolls of baggage and suitcases on linoleum floor, the smell of freshly cooked hotpot and street food from the food establishments, floral scent of paper and chalky wood, all floated beneath contained hint of concrete and steel. This is a modern, high-tech society that prides itself in modernised tradition. Whatever sights he could not see clearly did not deter the barrage of smells and textures that swam around him, assaulting his senses, penetrating and invading his comfort zone.

They boarded a high speed train to Sokcho. And then a short bus, away from the tourist hubbub that was Sokcho beach, which now lay loud, the waves crashing smoothly into the sand, the light of the moon coming up. It is a cold evening, frigid as the weather wont to up north in the rural outskirts. The midnight bus meandered slowly on the gravel, away from the trimmed short forests. They travelled deeper, the coastline receding into humongous slips that mountains appeared when sleeping. Where fine turned to hard grain, where gentle slops grew to stark mineral.

They were reaching the border, but not too close. Just out of reach.

The bus plodded along, pulling up at their stop. She took his arm, leading him to the doors and they were left in the exhaust, the moon now at its highest position in the sky. But this far north, they did not feel its cold gaze upon them, where the mountain chill took care to enshroud them in its frozen embrace. She guided him to a nearby van that sat at the side of the makeshift road, patiently awaiting their arrival. Once seated in, it was a short 5 minute ride. Past the autumn forests, the van approached a field of scraggly trees, before turning sharply and disappearing in between the huge trunks. The van was driven underground, lost to the woods, one could not get any deeper into the heartland, but inside the ground.

Yeona looked at Mikmik, at his fingers splayed on the car seat, feeling the worn leather. He had kept to himself for the majority of the journey to this new land, his arms around hi. That could be partly due to the change in climate, switching from the tropical warmth for the sudden freezing winds of the tundra. She wondered if he was tracking his entire journey, much like how he had felt the push and pull of the current, even if he had not known the mechanics of it, the words to describe, the language and fluid literacy to describe what he was doing, stopping water back in the little village.

The van came to a stop and Yeona pushed the car door open. Yury greeted them at the door, ever present with a few towels at hand. Yeona gratefully took one, before gesturing behind her to where Mikmik stood, who had followed her footsteps. “This is our latest fellow, come to join our troupe.” She had informed Yury beforehand of their arrival and their newest acquisition. Come to seek adventure, all these lost souls she had accumulated. They could start an orphanage.

Yury had his head bowed low, holding out the towels to his maiden. He gently placed one on Mikmik’s arm, a comfort from an alien that had travelled far and long to get here, stolen away to the middle of the night. Mikmik felt the soft cloth. There were things stranger than getting aboard someone stranger’s vehicle, travelling across several thousand miles and disappearing into the woods.

“This is Yury, an important friend.” If Mikmik was not going to open up to Yury first, Yury is still going to be a calming presence in the background. His black hair neatly cut, his tanned face fixed to stare ahead but not quite at the eyes of the speaker to prevent them from being startled by his piercing dark grey stare. Mikmik had to know that he would be there when called, when needed. She placed her hand on Mikmik’s shoulder, confirming Yury’s other arm on his.

Mikmik took this as his cue to not be rude and reciprocate his acknowledgement. He took the towel as Yury led him to his room. “Thank you,” he murmured behind him where he assumed the soft and precise footfalls following behind him belonged to Yury.

They were walking down a hallway, it seemed to be narrow, Mikmik analysed as he heard the echoes of their footsteps cumulatively bouncing back around them, in a synchronised symphony. Yeona’s was fast and assured in her steady heels, Mikmik’s was slow, feeling the wall, a smooth grainy touch, and Yury’s unhurried, and composed. “This is it.” At that point, Mikmik knew to stop, turning slightly to the right at the sound of her voice, a lyrical lilt to it. “This is where you will stay.” Yeona had been careful to ask Yury to pick the room with railings and windows for ease of access. She had trusted him, and her expectations were exceeded. “The alarm is set for 7. We will lead you down for breakfast. Get some sleep, please.” Yeona is giving him precise instructions.

The doors were closed after Yeona had given him one final pat. The light of the hallway was pushed out and Mikmik was left alone in his brand new living quarters to his thoughts for the first time in almost 24 hours.

Placing his hand on the railings, he slowly put one step forward, his hands out, making his way around the room. It was after he had familiarised himself with his standard square poster room that he made his way to a single bed in the right corner, his palm testing the spring of the mattress, fingering the pillow. He sat on the bed, his arms out, his head up.

He hoped there was an ether port in the room and a computer available to the outside world in this luxurious prison cell.

 

 

 

_Somewhere Deep In The Woods, Sokcho, Goseong County, Republic of South Korea_

 

 

 

Waking up at the stroke of dawn, waiting for post-traumatic stress to catch up to someone was not fun and games. Fortunately, Michael had a grip on reality, as much as he did. He just kept counting electric sheep in his head, clutching the damp towel Yury had given him, imagining that it was the sea. If he closed his eyelids and succumbed his world into complete darkness, he would be caught in a tidal wave not of is making.

Yury had made sure that he was up, before guiding him to the toilet down the hall where toothbrush, more towels and soap awaited for him to use. This place had all the modern amenities required for a wealthy living, deep in the depths of the ground. It was obvious to Mikmik, smelling the carefully ventilated air and the controlled temperature maintained in the quarters that differed from the natural ambience and humid weather back.

Home, this was his home now.

He made his way down, following Yury who had escorted him from his wash up to what was presumed the dining hall, where loud noises and clink of cutlery could be heard.

“I don’t want to eat anything that looks like it had hibernated and been left to die for quite some time.” A rough tone, on the cusp of breaking but still reaching for its innocent high notes, he did not seem pleased with the cuisine prepared.

“That is an apt description for approximately 90% of the food that we consume here.” A low woman’s voice rebuked the first statement.

“It’s congee and spring onions, healthy food for growing boys.”

“I like congee! It has a lot of nutritional value!” A high girly song rang, loud, bordering on shrill and far too cheerful to be so at this waking hour.

“ILena, you like anything that can fill up your stomach.”

“I’m doing all the growing I need without this – “

“We haven’t invented bodies that can digitally transmit from plate to stomach, pity though – “  
“I don’t think that is physically possible, unless we were robots. We already play online, do we have to cross the digital to this plane? Let’s try to keep things separate, makes it easier and simpler.”

“Please pass the salt.” A quiet, controlled voice, modulated to the very minute syllable.

“Eh, Miya, here you go. No need to be so formal.”

“You could learn some manners from her, Junie. Close your mouth while you eat, sometimes less is more. Where was your mother when you were growing up.”

“With yours in a ditch somewhere – “

“Our newest guest is here.” Way to go for Yury to introduce everyone at the table. Mikmik wondered if formal customaries and greetings were the norm here in this grandly envisioned aristocratic household.

Yury had helpfully guided him by the shoulder to a chair, North Atlantic oak he noted by its thick and hard ridges that could not be sawed down or buffered to produce a smooth surface, and sat at what is a long table at the end. He felt the sharp corners with his left hand, the table is something sturdier, and he would venture to guess marble although an entire dining table to be made out of limestone was extravagant. Perhaps meals were an important part of the day.

“He will be joining us. Please send him your kind wishes.”

At this juncture, Mikmik felt that he ought to say something. The few words he had spoken sitting setting foot in this country were pedestrian, and he had yet to say something meaningful in this house. He found his voice, caught at his throat. It is the first day of school all over again, and he is tripping over words at the front of the class. Today, he does not have his cane. “Hello, I am Mikmik. Please look after me.” A chorus of hellos were murmured back to him, everyone busy wolfing down their breakfast or hung over from their night activities. He had to get used to these new timbres and dulcets, mentally measuring the rise and falls, their voices recorded in his mind as colour speckled, flushing and receding.

“Junie, Mikmik and you will be paired together, so please get to know each other.”

“Oh, is he doing intel Then wouldn’t he be assigned to Yury?”

“No, he is a tracker, like you. He will need to know the ropes and will train alongside you. Mikmik has a similar schedule to yours.

“What? Each troupe usually only has one – “

“And now ours will have two to spare.”

“Great, everyone wants to be the left-over!”

“It’s always good to have more team mates know a bit about what each other are doing. We have our own specialities, but we should function together as a team.” The last statement made by Yeona ended this particular line of the conversation as what she said is currently law. Unless everyone wanted to be turned out of the house they had been making a home for various different time lengths.

Michael listened, he was good at hearing the subtle undertones and shifting attitudes behind the words. He knew Junie was not comfortable with the idea of him, he would just have to get to know him. Whatever hurdles they had will have to be met and resolved.

That did not make it any easier for the boy where wood and games were his friends.

“Ah, Junie, don’t sulk. At least you now you have a companion to talk about identifying individual numerical signatures such that we can communicate with other beings light years ahead.”

Michael wondered about the boy with the mocking voice. At this stage, everyone was curious, and would probably grow curiouser as they proceeded in this training.

“That will happen soon with the right advanced level of technology – “

“We already have a hard time keeping track of the beings here on this plane, why would we go bother others who would probably crush us with their own alien technology.”

The chairs were pushed back, the cutlery was being packed up and the voices were fading away, signs that this conversation was being moved. Michael stood up and almost banged his knee on the countertop. He brushed aside the napkin and cleared his plate, hoping to follow the troupe to clean his utensils. Junie obviously did not want him around for the time being, but he would have to get used to it. Michael intended to learn as much as he can, his brain thrives in the knowledge of the new, his fingers grasping at sudden textures.

It is a brand new day.

“Mikmik, it’s time to go,” a cheerful voice spoke directly into his ear and an arm wrapped around his, startling him out his thoughts that he almost tripped and fell onto the person in front of him, taking whoever down. Luckily, Michael counted himself graceful in being able to rescue himself from a stumbling pileup.

“I’m ILena,” she said, still clutching his arm like a lifeline lost in a lonely sea. “Long time ago we have new people, Miya was last person to join troupe. It nice- no, it is nice to have someone new, shake things up, no?” Her voice was cheery, but not unkind, attempting to speak New Standard Language a mile a minute. “Where you come from?”

Michael is not sure to share this information, given that people from these parts of the world seemed to guard something like a name as sacred covenant. He did not open his mouth before ILena resumed her speech. “I come from faraway, a land so cold, even colder than this.” At that, she placed something freezing against his arm and Michael almost jerked back, biting his tongue in the process. He felt the salty iron tang slip in his mouth.

“See, very cold. Like ice, like snow.” ILena liked to use all the new words she learned in her daily lessons, it would extend her vocabulary and enrich her mind. So Ryu Seonsaeng-nim had said. She took a scoop of ice cream from the bowl against Michael arms. She had smuggled from the pantry, to eat in her morning classes. She did so love sweet things. “You will like her, she patient with us, more for me. I am not sure how good you speak, but we maybe in same class, so, good. The other classes are also interesting, we have conditioning, good to stretch body, and therapy, there is also circuits, it is my favourite, not sure you will like, not everyone likes.” ILena continued her little ramble, the top of her head hitting Michael as though to gesture and indicate her actions and presence.

“Hello ILena.” It would be hard to get a word in edgewise, and he managed to get his greeting in.

“Oh yes, and then you also have to remember to go to thermostat in basement to turn up when hot water is finished. Junie always using all of it up, I know it is him as he takes bath around the evening, so you will have to reset – “

Junie, the boy he is supposed to follow, be guided by. Where is he?

“You have nice, strong shoulders, good. That means you are a man. But your face, you show everything on your face. Like open-book.” ILena tried to shoehorn a phrase she had learned just last week, she is proud of herself for successfully incorporate a commonly used phrase. Speak the lingua franca like a native, another façade to hide behind. “We work on your posture, it will look magical on the screen. We can get more points. You know your technical stats? So we can see and judge your standard, learn new moves, new positions – “

This is a long hallway they were walking on. How big is this vast underground cavern? Michael wondered if there is a hidden forest underneath the underground.

“- I like Home N’ Play games, so nice to decorate and make your own house. What other games you like? You have girlfriend? I show you some nice matches on dating apps, you can err, what is the word, hook up, with some nice lady in Seoul. Here in Goseong, very small, far away from everyone else. Do you have your satelpad? We need it to talk to each other, discuss strategies, – “

Good to know they were not close to any hint of other civilisation. How did they get their food? Online groceries, he supposed, but was the produce fresh by the time the food arrived in this remote locale.

“- Chlo can help with programming, she takes care of all the digiapplis that we have here. Except the harness, Yury works it, he and Chlo will connect it to the inner universe so we can see how you move in there – “

“ILena, where is Junie?” Michael figured he would have to interrupt her with commands, overriding her ambitious dialogue, to be heard. He was instructed to shadow Junie, and that he will do.

“Oh, he is here, where I was leading you. Jun-jun, come here!”

“Call me that again – “

“You are right, Jun-jun is a cute name for a not so cute boy.”

“Excuse me?!” He should not be worried that ILena did not consider him adorable. ILena is constantly dealing with unpleasant aesthetics that she longed for and applied a bright and sparkly shine, projected onto everyone and everything.

“You are supposed to take care of Mikmik, stop wandering away! Now,” here she turned to Michael again, “Don’t worry about Junie, he needs more friends.”

“I have friends, lots of friends!” Michael is currently not a friend nor is he an acquaintance. “I’m just fine in classes, alone.”

“No, you cannot train, alone. We always have someone to watch over us, see our mistakes, so we can improve. Useless to just do same thing over and over again without going forward. Someone will have fresh eyes, new things to see and say. No one can be like great king Plushenko, creating masterpieces all alone.”

Michael turned and smiled at ILena’s optimistic tone. He should try to find more about these new figures, these names sounded like people who should now. If the people in here were throwing around names, they were significant and had to be noted. “I shall be fine here. Thank you for leading me here.” He hoped to speak to Yeona and ask her if he could make a new cane for himself. He could not see his hands, the callouses on his fingers from scrapped metal and burnt wood and tips pruned from pressing down on plastic keys, but these hands made and did.

“Nice to meet you to. You will enjoy being here in Jang-won! See you at dinner together!” He heard the screeching halt of her voice reach the ceilings that were definitely very high, to bounce around and let everyone within the vicinity know of her bubbly presence.

Turning around, he felt for the wall, before someone grabbed him. He would have to try to tell people that it was not good to catch hold of someone out of the blue, out of the incorrigible phantasmal of blurred lines, condensed spider webs and muted electric spaces that was his sight, someone who was visually impaired.

“Let’s get this straight. I see as little of you as possible, because that would be healthy for both of our sakes. You give me trouble, and I will make trouble for you back.” It looks like they would not be on the same page, for now.

Before he could respond likewise, he felt himself being let go and he almost toppled onto the wall behind him. Michael regained his balance, used the wall to push himself into an upright position, straightening his shoulders. He hoped he stood tall. He extended his arm out, fingers curved to grasp the air, an invisible handshake

“Hello, I am Mikmik. Nice to meet you to. Thank you helping me, it is a good day today.”

He heard a sceptical twitch and Michael smiled, trying to calm a frightened animal. If everyone treated you like an inanimate object or a being to pander and patronise, it was always better to turn the other cheek and be polite than to be abrasive and unkind. Especially when he is not quite sure of Junie’s dreams, aspirations and his position within the troupe. It would do to make enemies early on, in this plateau of unfamiliar faces and masked voices.

“Whatever, Ji Seonsaeng-nim will waiting for us. Walk straight ahead, get your training clothes and don’t miss a step carelessly. I’m not going to responsible for some boy who can’t see shit wiping out star jump exercise drills.”

Junie at least told him which direction to walk and what they will be doing.

Stepping forward, he felt himself slowly gather energy, from the tips of his fingers, feeling the liquid adrenaline travel up to his arms, to the centre, his heart where it would travel in blood, pumping to the brain. He did not ask to be tracker. He had gifts he did not ask for, but certainly, he wanted it. It peaked in his interest in games, he would hone in, train it as a technical and artistic force. Perhaps it would be something to reckon with.

He did not know until he tried, like how he can dance with water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: My favourite ship had a new photo, I am quite pleased. We will probably have to wait for the next championships for another one. I am compiling a list of songs to put out as the soundtrack of this story, music that I listen to while writing this. Still looking for betas.  
> Thank you for all the kind feedback and kudos. This one is for the readers.
> 
> Soundtrack  
> 1\. Run Boy Run by Woodkid  
> 2\. Stillness of the Mind by Abel Korzeniowski


	3. Chapter 2 - How Sweet Is Youth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One world is not enough for humans. So we made more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. This one is for you. I hope no one gets dragged in by all the purple prose and excessive. description.

**How Sweet Is Youth**

 

 

**A name is the most important title to have. Without it, you do not know who to be.**

 

 

 

_Training Room F, Jang-Won, Sokcho, Goseong County, Republic of Korea_

 

 

 

Conditioning is usually the most tiring part of the schedule and Junie’s least favourite part of training. He did not like exerting much physical force for activities that seemed pointless, such as doing a 100 push ups, 10 laps around the track, and another 100 arm lifts in the gymnasium. It gave an adrenaline rush that he did not want, sweating in areas that he did not think were possible, and it heightened his senses uncomfortably where his body was poised, positioned to move, but he could not form the correct patterns. He would much rather sit still and concentrate, trying to reign in the energy felt, open up the points in his body and release to track. However, these drills often left him in a restless, exhausted state at the end, which he suspected were meant to get him to be more physically energetic, leave his body free and wild to attack, or whatever Ji Seonsaeng-nim would rattle on, or Yury, if you get him in a good strop talking about body care and management.

Junie was obliged to guide Mikmik to the next lesson. He yelled at him to quicken his pace as they walked further along another hallway. He could not afford to have Mikmik dawdling about, trying to hear the whispers of the corridor, his hands feeling the patterns on the wall. He also had to make sure that Mikmik was able to get into the training rooms as he did not have his ID card with him. Yury had better prepare his ID because Junie was not going to be the babysitter to the newest member here.

After conditioning classes came aerobics, which was really more of relaxing their bodies and tightening limbs into a series of precise and swift movements. This was Mikmik’s forte, as he discovered that he took to moving his body as though he could control the fire within, presenting himself as a mobile liquid column.

He looked over at Mikmik, who was not a prodigy as well, thank the non-existent heavens. He was not a spider monkey who scaled the walls, or a hunter who could focus on one point and sprint towards the unmentionable object, hoping to catch up with the horizon. Junie ought to feel a bit better that he was not going to be outmatched on stamina when going through exercise drills, as of yet. Mikmik was however, annoyingly flexible. His arms and legs that seemed compact, were long and slender when stretched out when he reached for the upper bars, hanging loose as he swung down, his head peeking between his legs like grotesque gremlin clutching a hill, his muscles taught as he held on to his foot, his leg extended out. Ballet academies across the world would die to have someone of his talent in this area, which was needed in these games, this game that they were playing.

Points for you Mikmik, for presentation wow factor. Now, let’s see you do it in the Inner Universe. His sense of spatial awareness, a blind spot in his minds’ eye he could see where he could not see in this physical plane.

“And now, please face each other. Get ready to perform your step sequence in simultaneously, I will like to see how your lines match up.” That snapped Junie out of his inner incessant thoughts as he prepared to start at the end of the mat, Mikmik directly in front of him. They were supposed to the exact positions, which from the top would develop into a lovely seamless synchrony. Coupled with the mirrors all around the room, Junie could feel himself being reflecting back him, Mikmik onto him, a thousand Junies and Mikmik dancing like a beloved coupled. It is sickening how even mirrors could tell lies, to them, to the instructor.

To an audience in competition.

Stubbing his own toe on the mat, Junie fell out of the sequence, the pattern temporarily destroyed. He quickly slipped back in, ignoring the small burst of pain in his left foot, foregoing a few steps to be in time with Mikmik. It would be in his imagination to see Mikmik smile a bit.

Junie would not know if Mikmik was mocking him, with his smiles staring slightly off-centre in his direction, arms out as though to hug the living daylights in him. Whatever, he could not see past his own nose, he would definitely not survive here. Junie gave him two weeks, a month tops before Mikmik went to Yeona and begged her to let him get out of Jang-Won and be driven back to wherever godforsaken place he was dredged up from.

Kim Seonsaeng-nim looked at Mikmik, and from her position at start of the mat where the aerobics dance had started. She almost seemed to be peering over Junie’s and Mikmik’s head, insisting on watching over them. The three of them made a hideous misshapen monster in the mirror, a body with three very different heads growing out, starring back at each other.

“That was good work for a start. You need to practice more, so that your coordination will be more focused, tight.” And less flighty, seemed to be left unsaid. Her eyes narrowed, her mouth tight, her blank face revealing nothing. Kim Seonsaeng-nim was rumoured to have trained under the military with her rigorous demeanour and strict adherence to elegant lines and rigid backs. She was not easily impressed and as much as Junie wanted to adopt the same manner regarding Mikmik, he conceded that he might be better at this. To himself. “Think of yourselves as twin cranes, bound by virtue to the land. You can only express your pain and loneliness, on this physical terrain.”

Being a bird is not high on the list of spirit animals Junie might want to emulate, but he could understand the simple want, urge, need, deep within the soul, to be free. He walked to the foot of the mat to start the sequence again, his arms held out, ready to pull into the deep well inside that was in everyone, the potential to turn into something greater.

Mikmik positioned himself in front of him, eager to practice a new routine. He was used to having a structured schedule, his time cut into little blocks of periods, stacked one after the other, his actions dictated by little lines and restricted spaces. This is not as constricting for some, for he needed to know where he is and what to do with little visual awareness. Once he felt and could connect to the invisible beat that pulsed within the air and within himself, he could let go, for a little while. Take control of that small little sound, and used it to create something bigger.

 

 

 _Waves in front,_  
_Swirling high,_  
_A little wall,_  
_Tumble from the sky_

 

 

“Oi, step into place.” Junie held onto Mikmik’s arm as he suddenly found himself hands full of him. Michael quickly righted himself from where he had landed on Junie’s back in midflight, almost crushing them both on the floor. “I’m sorry,” he bowed to Junie and Kim Seonsaeng-nim, who lifted a single eyebrow at him from her semi-permanent stance at one of the mat. She was spotting from a distance and Michael was not sure how that would help. She demanded perfection from this simple pattern, and they had to keep circling each other, having each other’s back.

A sudden case of vertigo, he reasoned, padding with his toe to feel the threaded seam that denoted the starting point. Junie shot Mikmik a fierce look, thinking he could burn a hole into him. How could one frustrate or intimidate the other with their stares when the other could see them.

Come on Michael, pull yourself together. Don’t let lack of stamina be your crutch. Heh, crutch, like how he desperately needed one. Michael could be a riot to himself when he put himself up to the task. When he was not hearing nursery rhymes in his head and seeing vermillion splashes behind his eye lids.

“You will have to keep practicing, fly as one flock of birds when all the members are together.” Kim Seonsaeng-nim had an obsession with metaphors involving birds, flying, flight, freedom. It might just tip into death, if one were to go too close to the edge.

They proceeded to practice this for a few more minutes that seemed to stretch into a century. A good long time spent on exercising muscles he knew he had, had long to use and leave a good, tugging ache that came from rushing towards an adrenaline rush. Like the wave that almost came for him. It might be egoistical to think that he was the centre of nervous attention, but he was in an unfamiliar place, where the distance between familiarities to another cannot be simply bridged by learning routine in one day.

Kim Ssim had given him and Junie a nod by the time they had done at least a thousand of the same sequence. Her fingers flew across her satelpad as she swiped numericals and typed data about their training session. Junie hoped that whatever data she had gleaned from this lass meant that he did not have to be pair with Mikmik forever. It is not good to have a team where the members were unable to get along with each other. If Junie pretended to aggravate the situation to manipulate statistics and get his way, he was all for it. Gaming the system is a part of life that they lead anyway.

As long as you do not gamble yourself away out of the board. But Junie would never when he could digitally insert himself back in with a few circuit shortcuts.

Michael quickly took Kim Ssim’s sharp dismissal as approval, for a beginner at least. He was not going to look for a gift in a horse’s mouth and made his way to the bench, his toes feeling the wooden cuts where the parquet tiles were laid, walking to the bench with his newly prepared exercise bag.

Making his way to the door, he turned around before Junie called out. “Yury is here to see you.” Junie quickly walked out of the room, leaving Michael to Yury who stood at the entrance, waiting for his arrival. Junie clearly did not want to be in the way and let Yury handle Mikmik, and whatever necessities that needed to be taken off. Probably paperwork. Filling out documents was boring, only Miya seemed to like taking care of a paper trail and file away into neat compartments. But she was detail-orienteered to a degree Junie was not on and did not have the patience for.

“I hope your first few lessons were not too strenuous,” Yury told him as he and Michael walked along the hallway. It was a wonder Michael did not get an overloaded case of dizziness, walking around in straight, narrow lines that sometimes looped into whimsy circles, before turning out to knot the Is and dots.

“It was exercise.” Learn a pattern, try to follow, wash, rinse, repeat. Stability, routine, which is what Michael needed at the start and for now. He has feeling that these exercises were going to be the simplest part of training. Training for a game, playing a game, where was never as easy and by the rule as tutorials and guide made it seemed.

“Your parcel has been sent.” Michael breathed a sigh of relief. Yury might not have and ws not obliged to follow through with his bidding, he was nonetheless glad to hear that his family had received a pile of souveniers bought at the airport. It was useless, but they needed to know that he was physically fine. “In addition to the letter you typed.”

While Michael was glad that they now knew he was safe in another place, he knew part of him had to let them adrift. _Please do not worry, I am safe. I have left and found kindness along the way. I plan to travel for a while, see the world as I said I would when I turned 18. I have to become a man and find my own dreams, it has just come earlier than usual._ The message relayed had been short, less he give way to sentimentality and tried to hustle his way onto the next plane back home. It is better this way, him a strange boy who might become a strange man in a strange land.

“We have also made some modifications to your room,” Yury continued, his eyes trained to the front while he timed his steps with Michael’s. His arm still held onto Michael’s, curled around his left arm like a confidante, than a parent governing their child. “I think you will find it a tremendous improvement, having easier access to your living quarters.” He went on to explain a bit about the additional railings and raised markings to line certain corners and areas in his room, which played to Michael’s heightened sense of touch. It is good to know where he is, in what would come to be his most intimate space.

“Thank you for your kindness.” Michael could only say th least, for what else could be left at the other end of the rope, where Yeona might ask for in return. She would not ask for it now, if she were smart, for he had nothing to repay back his debt as of yet. He felt it over his shoulders that he could more intensively count its fingers and toes as it slept beside him at night.

“We were also able to get you a cane,” Yury guided him towards what seemed to be an opening, another room. A wooden staff was placed in his hands held out, and Michael paused to finger the straight pole. A smooth lacquer coated the staff, shiny and smooth to touch. A bamboo of sorts, maybe green wood. It felt heavier than his old cane that he had painstakingly carved himself. This was no cane for the juvenile impaired, this was thick and strong at its core. He hoped it would not bee to heavy in his arms. He felt for the edge, and his fingers brushed over the knob. The grooves of his fingertips traced faint papery lines along intricate curves, mentally drawing out a picture of his head. A character, no, a series of characters at sharp points of the head. It did not mean anything to him, as of yet. Michael was determined to find out, he needed to know the ins and outs of an important instrument that would become part of him.

“Yeona had it specially made,” Yury spoke. In such a short time, they were able to procure an item that was definitely worth more than the yearly crop yields produced back home in the Philippines. “She hopes that it would be useful to you in more ways than one.” Michael did not think Yury meant the numerous uses the visually impaired had for their walking sticks. If he was going to be gifted something where he could not return the favour now, or even in time to come, he might as well thoroughly appreciate this gesture.

“Thank you, once again.” Michael grasped the staff as he was also handed his ID, which was another tremedous relief. He would think that there was no other way to get around, except through electronic recognition, and he did not want to be stuck outside the toilet, hoping for someone to open the door.

“I hope your training so far has led you to believe you can achieve great things.” That was preaching to the choir, considering the limited opportunities he had back home. Although he had already planned to leave his home, find something different, Michael did not anticipate travelling so far in such a short amount of time. “You may find it a bit tedious, especially tagging along and playing catch up with the other members, but it should all come together. Your training, it all prepares you for the greater goal, in other worlds.”

Michael had a vague idea that he would be operating advance computer systems, given that his next class in the afternoon is mobile gaming operations. Well, he was good at online Dama, so that should be fun.

“You will find yourself at home here.” That was supposed to happen, Michael guessed. He wondered what would happen if he did not fit into whatever grand scheme Yeona had. Would he be kicked to the curb, and hopefully with this brand spanking new cane? Executed to prevent him from going out and selling their secrets? If he had any valuable information in the first place.

But no one left Jang-Won, willingly or by force. This place, they chose it, and it held onto their choice. This place had more thriving vines to hold onto its occupants than some would desire. Junie felt this was his home, and no one was going to invade its familiarity, especially not an upstart boy that came from nowhere.

“What am I doing here?” This question should be followed up with an explanation as to what was all this training that Michael, that Junie, everyone on board this efficient, well-run, but doomed train, is subjected to.

“All this, is preparing you for something greater. All in due time, Mikmik. You only just arrived here, there will be things to do.”

Raising an eyebrow, Michael was able to perfect a trimmed, provocative brow that stated that he did not see the use of riddles. A mystery shrouded in smoke and mirrors, kept in the dark, building a palimpsest of new coded texts that further decreased the chances of solving the first few riddles, additional pieces of information changing the entire perspective of the game. It was hard to explain, perhaps, what they were doing. Why they were doing this.

“Come, you have another class.”

For now, he had to swim along in this sea of overwhelming tides, not knowing anyone or anything, and hoped he did not drown, especially in something so foreign, and be made a spectacle to others.

He was fortunate that everyone is lost in this world.

 

 

 

_Sub-Underground Basement of Jangwon, Sokcho_

 

 

 

Walking down to the subterranean underground of an already existing basement structure is the beginning of many B-grade horror movies. For Michael, he was already walking in a labyrinth, being lured further into an abyss while swimming in the depths was not a huge feat.

Chlo looked at him from the corner of her eye, studying him openly to the point of being rude. Gawking at a weird science museum exhibit, she was shameless in her observation, precisely because she thought he could not catch her and she would get away with it. Only when he turned his head in her direction did she quickly face front, continuing to their destination. She wondered how much of the world he could reportedly see, and how much could he know and dream in his vivid imagination that no doubt laid beyond his blur eyes.

They walked past several heavy duty coils. Vines tracked this place, cradling a holy chest close to its thorny heart, mixed with monstrous cables that weaved their way in and out of the entire expanse further in. There was an entire world in these taverns, much of which was left unexplored because Chlo, and many of the troupe members, had to focus on the online worlds that they had found and managed themselves in. Although the dense forestry lent a naturalistic feel to the place, it was to block the signals that the mass advanced computer signals sent out, most importantly the fact that they were tapping and bouncing signals to prevent other, unwanted forces from prying in. This included their sonar and radio systems, which Chlo wasn’t entirely too sure were legal and possibly were crossing electronic and digital lines with their hostile neighbours across the border, but hey, you can’t get state of the art invisibility without cloaking within enemy territory.

They approach a metal door that split into two once Chlo tapped her ID card, shutting behind them as they stepped in.

“Welcome, my dear visitor, to where we do most of our very serious, very top secret work.” It was not every day that Chlo got to be melodramatic, so if she held her hand out, imagining herself to be a street magician swishing her sparkly cape, well, no one is here to see her play-acting.

If Michael could see, he would be frightened by the amount of high level technology available in the room. Actually, Chlo does not know what Michael’s reaction would be. To her, this was an everyday place, where she felt her connection to and within, the packed setting filling up the space within her.

There was no missing of the numerous screens stretched from floor to ceiling. Cables were packed neatly to the side. Yeona insisted a tidy game centre to prevent people from tipping over long, dangling stray wires, as had happened when Para first came. They prefer not to speak of the incident where they lost connection right at the crucial moment of gathering the skulls from catacomb 3, forfeiting their battle. Separate stations cornered the room with individual monitors, chairs and memorabilia that marked each person’s territory.

Even with Chlo describing the room to him, Michael could feel the hum and buzz surrounding the room. No one can miss the illumination in the room by the light and noise pollution emitting from the huge screen at the front. Perfectly digital pixels on a flat screen that portrayed their current campsite, a submarine traversing a deep underwater cave. A cave pictured in a cave. This is a cave within the underground without cascading rocky cones and shells.

This is a long way from a dinky internet café. A dusty board game that lay tucked up against the wall, gathering cobwebs.

“This is the place where we game. Building up our stockpile, trading, exploring our boundaries, working on our individual tasks.” Leading Michael into the inner sanctuary towards the front screens, Chlo pulled him towards, the side, where the crown glory stood. It is an expensive piece of equipment, and one needed only and specifically for the game that they played most often, on a competitive stage. 1.5 metres by 1.5 metres, it was a narrow jailhouse cell that allowed the players to move, their dances tracked by the motion sensors and straps and that hanged from the top.

It looked more like a decayed spider left to claw its way out than a kid’s playhouse.

“Battles include the entire troupe. We have our duties, specific roles, we’re supposed to know what to do, when to do and how to do. But for matches, one on one or sometimes pairs, we use this machine. We basically move and do, as though we are in an actual match. Whatever moves our body makes, it is tracked digitally and projected on screen.”

Picturing this tomb in his head, Michael mentally drew the layout. There was something large in front, generating a lot of heat. That would be the one gigantic screen that showed everything. Walking to the side, he tapped his cane on the ground until it came up against something bulky. He reached forward, running his fingers down the bumpy felt canvas material. Approaching this tall object, he stretched his body out. The width of his body with his arms stretched out was the length of this box.

There was hardly any room to do a handstand, yet it was deemed adequate for gamers.

Giving a wave to Para who is currently manning the station, Chlo flopped down on the swing chair by her station. “We do most of the gaming here,” she positioned the monitor towards her, which displayed the current statistics regarding power levels, health storage, ammunition and prize collection.

“Actually, it is called ‘playing.” Para called from his position at his side table, eyes glued to his screen as he watched the Clock Tower.

“Same difference.”

“Actually, they’re not. Gaming is a misnomer, playing is the more accurate term, because it encompasses all forms of game interaction, Simple point and shoot applications you can download on your satelpad, to those old traditional board games, and to the multi-player massive ones we’re playing. We not only play with each other, but we communicate, amongst our own troupe and with other troupes, establishing and facilitating the exchange of goods. We talk and act on the behaviour and consequences made by other troupes, which are shaped by larger pseudo-governing institutions that set the rules that make these worlds. This trade and intervening of intra-game and intra-world politics creates viable economies.”

“What he said,” Chlo was not going to explain everything again when Para just dumped all the information at them. “Para may be correct, but we still use the two terms interchangeably.” For someone who preferred to use his gamer handle instead of another nondescript name, he hid behind the technicalities.

“Which is wrong – “

“And here is where we are currently situated,” Chlo quickly threaded to where the troupe was stationed, avoiding another long-winded debate an archaic issue that did not warrant a place in Gaming 101.

“My job is to manage the energy level, make sure we have enough at the start of each gaming session and throughout. That includes oxygen, water, minerals, food, whatever it takes to keep a troupe running. When I’m not at the game centre, I still have to keep up with all these. Someone can steal our supplies in the middle of a sly deal, we could lose more in battles, marketplace bargains. I receive regular updates in my satelpad, monitoring our supplies.” Chlo knew her job at managing the supplies wheeling and dealing kept the troupe afloat. It was not a glamorous job, but much of gaming in the downtime is not. It is hard work, and only those willing to invest time and effort to building and upgrading their fortress will survive in the long haul.

“Don’t touch the key pads,” Chlo grabbed onto Mikmik’s arm as he swung his cane too close against Miya’s station, almost bumping it and setting all the items onher desk in disarray. She quickly pulled her arm away from where she had grabbed his, not knowing the ins and outs of Mikmik’s boundaries. He has a very odd cane too, an unnecessary thought flashed in her mind before she discarded it and went back to pitching. “You never know what you might be setting off.”

“Oh yes, remember when ILena was chewing on a sticky bun during the Mariana Trench Trail Raid and she bit into it so hard in the midst of battling with the Kraken that it flew across the board and accidentally landed and pressed on automatic oxygen eject? Good times.”

“Yes, where we spent almost an entire exhausting month trying to claw our way back down, having to make do with stolen oxygen tanks. I will never get my sleep back.” Curiosity killed the cat. On the flip side, they were able to wrestle control over the lead pirate ship, which led them domination over the sea routes around the Pacific Undisputed Islands., so satisfaction brought it back. Yeona had not seen it that way banning the consumption of any foods. Staggering meal times, and sleeping schedule was a daily routinized nightmare.

Stray fingers, however, were much more difficult to train to stay put.

“So, you play games?”

“If you want to be specific, we play one game. A game with many lands and many tasks. One very long game.”

Being obtuse is a mean feat. It must be nice not to have to understand every single instruction. “Like we game together, you know? This game, this Inner Universe. We’re one troupe together, there’s about 7 of us, if we include you, and we probably will, because Yeona wouldn’t recruit a random stranger to like mop the floors or dust the cables. Then, we would be 8. So just nice, we have filled all the spots available, enough to be a troupe. We can compete in the Grand Championships now. We had to wait until we had 8, that’s the minimum number of positions that had to be filled. Stupid rules, we used to only need 6, then that Italian wizard joke of a President took over and basically revamped the rules – “

“Hey, there were some decent changes under his charge. He made the game harder, having a performance component when judging body composition in battles. Without out it, you wouldn’t see players even try very hard moves combined with artistry – “

“- Making it harder for troupes to qualify.” Para loved to steal a good thunder, but Chlo could let others rain on her parade. Mikmik should understand the severity of what he was getting into. “You need more people. Not that there is a lack of people playing, it’s just one of the harder games out there. After the seventh member came in, we had trouble finding the last one, it was ridiculous. Then, we found you. Or maybe you found us, I’m not sure of the specifics. Anyway, we kicked ass before you, not that you suck at gaming, you haven’t gotten the chance to prove yourself yet, but you will, in the upcoming weeks. Now you’re here, so we can go for the big guns! We basically play against other troupes. And it’s not for nothing either, we play for money. Riches. We compete against other troupes around the world.”

That is a lot of information to take in. Playing with other people. Exploring new worlds, meeting new people. Getting to train, focus, hone their talents to this one specific, shared goal.

“Is that the reason you guys play. To earn money?” Michael stepped forward, eager to know that this could be a vocation. Well, if everyone was invested in escaping from their world-dreary lives, there would be people who could wish to stay in there forever. “You can do that?”

“You sure can. Make a troupe, enter professional tournaments, and win. Inner Universe is one of the largest online gaming communities, the amount of energy it takes just to power this baby, it’s incredible. The competitions are really organised, lots of backers. There’s money to be made when people want to see other worldly characters on screen.”

All these worlds that can be ventured from the comfort of their seat. Would it be really experiencing without having to go through the toils of the journey.

“But it is not just a game, Mikmik, it’s, it’s, it’s the world. We can go to so many at the tip of our fingertips. Why waste time travelling, being tired, getting allergic to exotic foods, braving volatile weather, when you can see it, experience it, in here? And more,” Para interjected before Chlo could start another manic tirade. “We can even break the barrier and see the ones not within this galaxy.”

“Before we get side tracked,” Chlo pushed Para out of the way before he could run his mouth and bore them all into a deep slumber about his more radical extra-terrestrial communication theories, “What he means is that Inner Universe is more than just a game. For some people, they live their entire lives inside this game.”

“Anyway,” she surveyed the wide oval room, not unlike Yeona from her omnipresent perch. She must have her visible eyes on this centre even when she claimed she did not want to interfere directly with their game training sessions. “It’s not just one of us playing at any one time, we play simultaneously. We play together, as a group. As a troupe really. That’s how others play too, we compete with other troupes.”

“So, we are playing games.” Michael held out his arms, he made a lot of gestures using his arms, since he could not open his eyes wide to display his emotions on his face. “It is what it is, even if others may be a bit more drastic in their play.”

Shooting a quick look at Para to silence him before he could let out another stream of consciousness, Chlo cut him again. “That’s a, simple view of what we do. We do play,” Para could not counter this statement. What they and many faceless, voiceless others, spending all their hours away. Some sacrificing more than just their blood and tears to keep this game running. Michael couldn’t help but feel that he had to do this, to try. That was all he was good at, at least for the present time being. Maybe if he trained, he could find and develop other hidden talents. With and together with the rest.

Michael needed touch, to feel the environment and the people, to be able to get a grip of the physical world. Online, it is a different story. He was able to picture it, because the unreal was as speculative as imaginary worlds.

“We’ve been waiting for someone to finally fill up the last remaining spot,” Para put in from his place, his eyes glued to his screen as he multitasked watching their current expedition, inside a submarine surveying the underwater thread that should hopefully lead them to the lost city of La Sirena. “We had a few people come and go, not quite gelling with the rest of us.”

Others may not know the extent of their plastic dreams, where it seemed boundless and endless, a light stream of images and floating colours. Michael with his damned eyes could see that it may not be all fun and games.

After all, without its players, there would be no worlds, building upon other’s dreams to escape to.

 

 

 

_Area 26, Field 10, Unfederated Territories, Approximately 50 km from Maldavia_

 

 

 

**Kukla and Yulyeong are signed on.**

 

 

There is a red dawn rising. There were black clouds rising, plumes pillowing into the already brilliant, angry sky. There are no flowers that bloom in turn, no floral pastel paradise to flourish, with stark vibrancy overpowering from the background, spilling into all edges as far as the eye, or two, could see. No birds in sight, not even a flight of nasty crows, because they too, could sense this ever growing malicious atmosphere. With crimson tinged skies and russet sunsets, everyone can now experience the golden apples of autumn. But this wasn’t something to moon over, to think about on light summer nights, to hold and cherish close to one’s heart. It was the coming of something darker, something sinister.

It was a song of fire.

Crawling on the ground, a tiny being made haste by lightly scratching the sandy terrain. It was an uphill climb, trudging to the top of the mouth of the cave. A perilous journey made harder with the smog clouding the air, the forest of volcanoes exhaling in almost unison. This obliterates almost all vision, which would have been detrimental for those with little to average eyesight, such as this one. But Kukla was with him, and she had the sharpest vision, catching every minute detail from the opaque colours that blurred into a hundred million splashes. Although she was stark in another place, today she is waiting, sliding into the shade.

She was his backup, the second to his first for now. He relied on its sense of touch, feeling the vibrating, the staccato, the beating heart of lava pooling deep underground. It had to take away the sounds of grating stones, pinching and falling on top of each other above, and avoid the additional dust and smoke motes that followed the rain of stone. Block out all the unnecessary distractions, and just concentrate on the centre of being.

The world is quieter than it usually is.

He finally reached the top, without sustaining considerable damage, without of turning clothing into muddied rags. That can be fixed with a quick button change when it made its way back to base. Right now, he had to fight its way through thicker smoke at the top to reach the cave. Continuing to crawl on the rocky terrain, he could feel its knees being bruised, the ache of his legs burning after trudging through jungle the day before. The dense foliage of rainforests was nothing to the burning smote filling the air, held by cold fire winds. There would be purple bruises blooming his skin to last tomorrow for sure, there was no need to waste anymore healing spells on mere kneecaps. Yulyeong should have gotten upgraded pads, though the sturdier ones cost a small fortune. At least three months of their food supply. He could have chosen to be bulky, as Hanmyeon would say. Be more lean, clean and practical. The less fat, the more tight, the more spring, to be a warrior. In this world, there was a need for warriors, and Yulyeong was a trying to be a step up from warrior, from those meatheads that wandered in the desolate moors. They were less aesthetically pleasing, ligaments riddled with puckers and seersuckers to stick industriously, bolts and knives to cling cruelly. Yulyeong knew though, no matter how much you tried to fix yourself into a better body, you could only be born into one. To achieve Inner Universe, you had to give up the material to reach the immaterial.

But that was a philosophical debate for another day. When Yulyeong was not in the middle of battling to get to the dank insides of an earthy enclave. It had reached the opening and with a final push, thrust itself into the darkness of its mossy arms. Getting up from its hands and knees, he brushed of as much as possible that had accumulated on itself. Congratulations, on reaching the top! Yulyeong shuddered to the side, almost taking out one foot. Kukla’s shrieks were shrill as bone in the outside world, she was still as sprightly here inside. One more dumpling for you for dinner! That he could hold her to, and the tips of his lips were already lengthening to a smile, before realising she could not see it.

Feeling each stony step, he stumbled its way across the jagged floor, almost impaling itself on one particular stubborn thorn. Caves were full of surprises, never just a blank hole of an abyss. He reached for the searchlight, now that mobile lava and smog was not in his path, and fumbled through his backpack. With a quick flick, a prism of light shone from the top of its head, springing light and startling tiny sprinkles across a deep cavern, much bigger than it anticipated. A few seconds later, the light dimmed, flickering shadows onto curved walls. Damn, only a half bar left. None to be wasted, he had to be content with this much for the rest of the task. Para would wring his head in if he were to throw away all it had left, even though it could get more if he could emit light, which it did not.

It started further down, hand to the wall, feeling or the slight tremor. The beating of the heart, the slight hum underlying years of ancient rock, the little thrill hidden between layers of hardened building. He could track the needed object this way, for he is a tracker, and a good one at that. Self-proclaimed, but should suffice for this.

Bringing his hand down, the light lowered in unison when he felt the flash of a scrape. There, barely there, it lowered the light bar and gently bit off the end. Desperate times had called for desperate measures, even if the situation was not so dire. It would fit better than expanding more energy on drawing out the incisor. Taking the glowing bit in hand, he slowly brush his fingertips along the wall once more, before scratching deeper, clumps getting stuck underneath shortened, tough bitten nails, before feeling the flashes for a tendril.

Ah, he felt it, and grabbed it, but too fast, the axel force of the manoeuvre pushed him forward, a crack forming as gravity and physics would not allow solid backgrounds to bend. Even time’s dimension could not be manipulated here. The big lines scrawled into small patches, and before the wall could come crumbling onto him, he sank down, disappearing into a space it could naturally manipulate. Digging a hole into the ground it could accommodate, and it allowed him to hold fast onto the tiny tugs of stings, that he could not let go.

A quick inhale of air and down it went, mouth tightly closed to prevent any accidental asphyxiation by soil, swimming smoothly towards the strung source. The passing rocks left marks on its armour, it was all the good in this world that it had braced himself with rubber skin, the sand slipping past without sticking. This is why he did not suction pads for a body, that Yulyeong prefers so.

Another beat, the song of the threads was getting stronger, steadier. Lighter. It grabbed onto it, heavy in his arms, in his fingers, it could feel it, before down, ballooning into the bubble.

Falling into a pit, it could. A sticky mold. Using the last half of the light bar, it cut a hole in the sack, a small one to peak out. The strings around its fingers were now ringing. It was getting closer.

And darkness engulfed the pit.

 

 

“I was close, close!”

“Except that you were not.”

“How would you know, you weren’t my second!”

“I don’t need to be in the zone to know you were gone the minute you sank into the cave wall. You just grabbed onto the first thing that felt like a hot track, and guess what, you were fooled!”

“Guys, please, we haven’t unstrapped ourselves from these chairs and you’re already – “

“It’s no excuse to be making when we’ve gone through this a thousand times on the drawing board. You feel the strings, little itty bits, test the waters, see if it fires, and you use them on the surroundings. Like trying to use those strings as electric cables, push those cables out and feel the surroundings before, oh yeah, just ripping a hole open when you don’t even know what is outside!”

“There wasn’t enough time, I was down to less than an inch of light, you never go in further – “

“That’s what your touch is for, you think no one’s going to have something that compromises your other senses? Your strength is your power, you have to heightened it –“

“I’ll like to see you try – “

“Been there, done that. You going to walk the walk any time soon, Junie? We are not going to be at your mercy when we get trapped in a cave of all places while the opponent runs of with the treasure.”

“End scene. I think we should go get some dinner, let the simulation rest for a while. Sasha is on watch until then.”

Junie barely unbuckled the seat belt before yanking the strap away from his chest and looked about to slap the tall girl standing at the doorway before another little hurdle rushed in between them. Little ILena could not stand to see her team mates fighting when they were supposed to be promoting member love amongst the group.

“That’s a marvellous idea Chlo, we should definitely go.” ILena clapped her hands loudly, her milk braids swinging wildly along with her too long limbs. Spotting Junie in the simulation room, for close to an hour for a practice session had tired her significantly. She was definitely down on her usual energy level. “Right now,” she slapped one hand on Junie and the other on Chlo, and leapfrog marched them out of the room. Junie and Chlo were not the best of friends in the best of times, it would stand to reason that they would not be jolly good pals when they were put away from the adrenaline of driving wild in an unknown reality. Good food ought to cure their sour appetites. Good food tended to do that. Good food in their stomachs would calm their hearts, let them think better, rationalise clearer.

It was a cold evening warmed by the hearth of the kitchen, where they normally would gather to eat. The dining hall was used for formal occasions, but ILena had never seen the dining room being used for many functions, except when greeting new members, such as the one for Mikmik’s welcome breakfast. Perhaps it was decorated for the occasional important confidante, not that ILena had seen anyone have a ball in there, or that it would be Yeona’s style to do so. She would keep her acquaintances and enemies in her office, on her chessboard, where she could see them and lay them out, moving pieces to and fro in an elaborate battlefield.

Yeona was considerate of her troupe, keeping them away from the more tedious politics of dealing with finicky federation board members and drawing their names for competitions.

ILena preferred the hobble of the hearth, one of the more cosy places in Jang-Won. Located deep in the heart of the manor, an enormous oven was stacked in a corner where edible food was hopefully being cooked, the smoke being filtered out and channelled for purification in the east wing. Nothing is wasted in Jang-Won, nor should it be. Nobody wanted to live in a wasteland, where every breathe you took could kill you, so it was good to see smog and dirt being put to good use.

“Well, that was certainly a waste of time.”

“Chlo, give it a rest.”

ILena settled down in the middle of the round table. She loved being able to reach for anything, which is especially dire when it came to mealtimes. Even with the large amounts of food prepared, she was sharing it with ten odd other people in communal harmony, of which four were definitely big eaters. The main dish in today’s meal is spicy pumpkin soup, a delicacy that most of them had grown to cherish. A fruit they were harvesting in their farming plots, freshly picked in the wee hours of the morning.

Para and Junie sat together, inhaling all their food and chatting in between wolfing down their portions off their hands. Chlo had her lip curled in vile disgust at their behaviour while slurping her soup, part of her long fringe covering the side of the bowl in a neat curtain. Miya sat at the edge daintily picking morsels of food in her bowl with her chopsticks, just out of reach of the dark shadows cast along the walls from the fire burning in the chimney place at the corner, prim and proper for a young girl who looked old. Yeona sipped her soup at the head of the table, her head bowed close to Yury as he sat next to her; the two of them busy conversing on all matters of subject. They were quiet, but could talking about something as mundane as the weather, although technically, there was nothing ordinary about discussing weather patterns. Patterns that were vital and could drastically change the environment they worked in. Sasha was on watch, so he was not present, taking his mealtime once the group had finished and one of them took over.

And then Mikmik sat, squashed in the middle. He may have been sitting surrounded by everyone, but he was not part of the general industrial atmosphere that the troupe had come to accept as theirs, not quite pleasantly conversing to each other, but they know they were in each other’s latent thoughts. It was hard to understand that they as unalike as each other, they depended on one another to achieve a greater goal. Spooning the porridge around his bowl, he quietly ate his meal. He looked as though he wanted to finish his meal as fast as possible, excuse himself and retreat back to his rooms. ILena knew he had nothing schedule after dinner, as new members were not put on night duty until at least two weeks into training. It had been a few days since his arrival and not one of the others had seemed to make a visible effort to try to talk to him.

ILena decided to take it upon herself to try to start a conversation. Perhaps she could distract him from looking down, she thought as he continued to scoop up his food and ear with his head down so close it almost touched the table, his hair hiding his eyes. Even though he may not really need his eyes in this case. He must not think about home, or he will be too sick, and leave this land of wonders.

ILena smiled, even though Michael could not see her. Well, he could feel his joyous personality that travelled via osmosis. There was no reason not to be happy here, when she could be glorious where she had originally come from. “Mikmik, what your favourite colour?”

“The hell kind of question is that, ILena? Mikmik, is, erm, well you know how, you can see – no, he can’t, like – “ there were few times that Chlo was not able to be brash as she sputtered through her thoughts. She hoped that it was a question lost in translation on ILena’s part. She processed at a rate faster than she could understand.

“That I’m blind?” Being blunt was often the dropping anvil that cracked the ground into two. It forced others to address the reality of the situation and to accept the terms by which the instigator defined himself and his surroundings. Chlo gaped at him with her mouth open, Para grinned in amusement, and ILena beamed as though this was the best information to hear since the advent of the introduction of the World Wide Web to the mass public.

It was then that Michael was able to take the lead in the conversation. “That’s an interesting question, ILena. Why do you ask?”

“How blind are you?” Para considered how this would factor in their fighting modes. Perhaps they could test MikMik and see if he could take on arms. Maybe not close range fights, but many battles, especially the major ones, were fought across long distances. “I read up about the different types of blindness when helping Sasha to buy some eye solution, and there’s like, many different types. Like, you’re not seeing complete darkness, you can spots and splashes.”

“Para, don’t be rude!”

“What? He just said that’s what he is, which is, and therefore is.”

“Still! I – “

“I’m technically classified as legally blind. I can see some colour, but in sometimes it is faded, like too much water and then it becomes blur, and sometimes I can see it really well, but only patches of it. It not uniformed, same all throughout, every time I blink, it looks different. And sometimes, I can’t see anything at all.” To the point that Michael would close his eyes, because it hurt, to see the landscape change every time he drew his lids up. Total darkness might have been easier to cope, when everything faded into the background, and Michael could concentrate on sating his exhaustion as he curled to sleep, under the dim light.

He was fortunate that the others did not attempt to ask him how he came to see whole new worlds.

“Kind of like Sasha then, he abhors the light.”

“Yes, we have our other almost non-existent member. Physically present, we mean. He’s always holed up his cave. He can’t really stand the light, something about photosensitivity. You two would get along well.”

“ILena, just because Mikmik and Sasha have different sight capabilities does not mean that will instantly make them best friends. That’s like saying we should be close on the basis that we’re both females.”

“Mah, it’s alright Chlo. I would not mind getting to know Sasha.” The question is if Sasha would want to get to know him. He seemed quite inaccessible, and this was the first mention of his name since Michael had gotten to this place.

“So what is your favourite colour? If you can see a bit, then you would know, all the beautiful colours, and the differences between all. It is fantastic, you can see a whole new world all the time.”

Michael smiled. She did not know how painful the world could appear to be, where all that glitters is not gold, and Michael could not separate the real from the illusion to the impression.

“I like all colours.”

“Hey, you cannot say that!”

“Ah, why not?”

“You must choose! You cannot keep quiet and not pick one side.”

“It’s not a fight to the death battle, ILena. You can have many favourites and dislikes.”

“Nu, Chlo, you have to have something that you like better, even a tiny, small inch more. That’s what Ryu Ssim says anyway. In an actual fight, and you are given two options, must always take one, to proceed. If you want to save at least one, you have to. Not always nice and happy, but that is life.”

“She’s right.” Michael thought these simple life philosophies were often unpleasant truths. “I guess you could say, I like certain colours at different times.”

ILena’s eyes had a manic glint in them, even in this small, heated conversation “You still not picking one!”

Michael held up his hands, placating her. “See, you can like different things at different points in time. When you’re happy, you might like green, for leaves. Leaves are a sign of spring, growth and health. When you’re angry, you might prefer something darker, like grey or black, and you want to be alone. Anyway, for each person, different colours mean different things, and this can also change.” Michael sat back, his head up, his eyes becoming crystal, bright in a dark room. “For me, the colours change all the time, because I see things differently all the time.” That was about as succinct as Michael could express his point. No one would quite know how confusing it could be to live with stain washed radioactive scenery.

Para reached over and patted Michael from across the table. “That’s poetic, bro.”

His deadpan remark brought the discussion to a halt and broke Michael out of his partial stupor. ILena reached over and took Michael’s plate, stacking it on top of Miya’s own cutlery. She was on kitchen duty tonight. She vowed to learn more about him.

Junie and Para walked out of the hovel, replacing Sasha at the gaming centre. Yury had finished earlier and had probably scooted off into the darkness, serving Yeona’s interests or practicing his choir recitation, whatever he did in his spare time, Chlo had muttered about checking the mail and Miya had vanished into the shadows, as always. Michael is once again left to find his back to his room. Well, there were all the new improvements. He was able to make his way to his room faster, only almost slamming head first into a wall a total of 3 times. He was not going to repeat that number to anyone. He is the boy with stars in his eyes and fictions swimming in head, not just the cane.

A cane that warranted looking into, he placed it on his bed side as he sat down, his feet touching the padded grooves that were now in laid on the floor, drawing a raised pattern. The boy that swallowed many worlds in another world not of his own.

He logged onto the desktop that was helpfully installed in the corner, hoping to find WheelofParadise, and play a set with Kori. A few games would not hurt.

Maybe Michael would be able to sleep with the lonely ghost watching over him, residing on the other half of his bed.

As lonely as he was, longing for company is sweet, but he did not know the name of the ghost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: We enter the skating off-season. May everyone enjoy earning money in exhibitions, relax their tired bodies and prepare for the upcoming blood bath. Time for me to read more books. I am compiling a list of songs to put out as the soundtrack of this story, music that I listen to while writing this. 
> 
> Thank you for all the kind feedback and kudos. This one is for the readers.
> 
> Soundtrack
> 
> 1\. Run Boy Run by Woodkid  
> 2\. Stillness of the Mind by Abel Korzeniowski  
> 3\. Raven by Do As Infinity


	4. Chapter 3 - Imagining Other Worlds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One world is not enough for humans. So we made more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Thank you for reading this little story. This is turning into something much larger than I originally planned. 
> 
> Combining my different fascinations for revisionist folk tales, cyberpunk, urban fantasy, space opera, epic theatre, shonen and shoujo manga and artistic skating. Some of the characters are original. The plot is inspired by the aforementioned fixations. I hope to read more and use what I learnt.

 

**Imagining Other Worlds**

 

 

 

_Unnamed Territory, Goseong, Goseong County, Republic of Korea_

 

 

 

“It’s a great day to be out and about.”

“I see some dark clouds rolling in the corner, it’s definitely going to rain. Shit, I hope we don’t drown, we’re quite a long way from Jang-Won. I already have enough mud on my boots from the trek up.”

“Para, quit whining and go buy another pair.” Lord knows he has so much money to splash around, his tastes ranging from predated automatic gears from the 19th century to Arctic seaweed samples. Perfect opportunity to add to his collection that Chlo could not care about even though Para kept trying to discuss his hauls with her.

“I think that’s a rather daring ensemble you’re wearing today.”

Chlo looked down at herself immediately before she realised that she should know what was on her body, having dressed herself today, like every other morning. Junie pulled childish amateur pranks that he considered high art when really she knew he only did it to those with the quickest tempers, and Chlo was not someone to back down over the pettiest matters.

“And that is a rather immature sense of humour you brought along today.” Good riddance, he had to let everyone class be subjected to his attitude.

“Thank you, I enjoy having it. You should get one, they’re awesome.”

Chlo had to prevent herself from quipping back as they walked across the rocky gravel road. She shut her mouth, her cheeks reddening as she knew it came across as her conceding to Junie, when she did not want to miss a step and plunge the rest of the crew off course, roll down the side and potentially kick themselves a rather steep incline.

The hell they were being put through, it is pure torture having to wake up at the arse crack of dawn before even the chickens were running around. Chlo could stand having to do morning gardening as they rotated shifts planting their vegetables in the sustainable plots. Humans have not invented a way in which they could subsist on air alone, and it was not wise to do so anyway, with the amount of toxins released by the airships, military aircraft, and assorted other fun poisonous elements that existed naturally in the atmosphere. So the good old-fashioned way of surviving by providing basic amenities to live such as food, water and shelter would continue. Yeona had charged a small negligible amount to all her charges to pay for their electricity bill, which Chlo knew came up to pennies than what was the probable exorbitant charge. They used up a lot of energy to keep Jang-won running. In return, everyone pitched in with daily expenses, and since no one really needed or led a luxurious lifestyle, with the exception of Para, creating and preparing their own resources is the way to go. They farmed on the land available within the estate, which is a staggering fertile plot size.

So close to land that lies barren for miles, as far as the naked eye sees.

Daily fare included vegetables, their main course being potato, mushrooms, and pumpkin. Spices were bought in bulk cheap from the nearby town market place. Vitamin C was provided from their small blood orange orchard. It was a simple life, as simple as can be with high technological computing systems stowed in their underground that made up the bulk of their gaming center. It was ingenious, hiding all this Seoul-level of development in a rural, quaint package.

She could feel Junie grin gleefully in front of her, sticking out his tongue as she looked at her shoes, making sure her flat hiking boots were not being squished onto the stony pathway. She bit back a smile when Junie stubbed his toe, hopping on one foot as he tried to hold his left foot, only to almost fall flat back against Miya. Giving him an unimpressed look, she pushed him back to his feet and to her right, her strength quite and quiet given her tiny frame, and trudged ahead, her shiny black shoes glimmering against the sandy rock road.

“Come around, we are almost there.” Yury called from the back, herding the group while holding onto MikMik. It is one of the few classes that included the entire team this time round, a miracle considering the numerous training lessons, gaming sessions, working duties around Jang-won that all members were required to do to maintain the area, minus Sasha, who is at the gaming centre watching their place in Inner Universe. He is always suspiciously not found to be available for lessons that require his presence in sunlight.

Feeling the head of his new cane imprinting on his palm, Michael held hard onto his the elegant hook in the eye. Such a contrast from Mikmik who while was not the picture of clumsy, had a graceless agility about him. He could get better with practice, seems like what everybody here did and was supposed to do. Although Yeona had bestowed upon him this gift, he needed to be guided to this place because it was uphill, without proper defined steps and Mikmik was, after all, in a strange foreign land.

Stamina conditioning is his top priority. A walk up the hill should not tire me out, Michael panted as he held onto Yury’s arm. It’s just a little robust stroll. Maybe staying up to play a few rounds of dama and catching up with Kori late into the night, the black hours bleeding into scarlet dawn hues was not an advisable decision. Playing with him, he could cherish a piece of his life before he came, and take it out at night, like a secret stash. In between all the different training classes, conditioning, practicing dance patterns, Korean lessons, other foreign language lessons and the piles of homework that accrued from all these lessons, Michael felt stretched thin. His physical flexibility allowed him to focus on building his core muscles, which would allow him to practice for longer, repeat sequences faster, twirl and jump higher. The voice hiding in the shadows at the back of his mind informed him that he was getting the best education possible here, even though it may be unorthodox in some areas. A lot of grey matter that we cannot rationally understand even though our brains are composed of it.

While Sokcho dies at night, the faint grey skies performing an ombre into midnight, the lack of collecting sparkles blot the small seaside city into dimness. The town waited for the sun to wake from its slumber, peeling away the indigo and navy blue to reveal the blue skies of the day. There some wonders that were more vermilion here. Except when there was a light drizzle, which often welcomed back the grey decaying bruises, that went flying down, chasing away further north, raining onto the brown mountains. Mountains that hid precious gems, nestling them where no one could find.

Walking up the makeshift path that was really more of a rough guide, they reached a small clearing with the hills majestically looming above them. It was great that they were able to see the beauty of the natural world, having hidden away in the bronze and marble underground. A different form of nature, processed and manufactured. Here, out in the woods, they could see the forests in full bloom. The red and orange spring leaves, the cherry blossoms petals that littering the ground a cotton candy graveyard, the streams flowing fast, the sound of water rushing past to catch up with the wind.

“A bit of fresh air would be good today, then to always be stuck inside.” The troupe had to get outdoors more often, since the qualification rounds would be involved actual interaction, what would be more intriguing to game developers would be to establish playing grounds across the world, in diverse locations. Besides, some of the members looked far too pale to be considered healthy. Sasha was looking a bit washed out, choosing to sit under the shade of a tree, the big oak dwarfing the pale ghost. Or that could just be his actual pallor. Even reaching into the grasps of summer, Sokcho clung to its reds and golds, as though autumn had never left. The only difference in seasons was the slight temperature changes, before it plunged into freezing when in the domain of winter.

Not much time left, Yury stood at the head of the makeshift group. They will have to be in tiptop shape for the start of their season in fall.

Waiting for everyone to settle down into a lopsided circle, he ignored the various mutters about having to sit on the ground. “Who can start our discussion on political strategies concerning nuclear warfare?” Yury tried to smile encouragingly at the group, not looking at any one particular face less they decide to look at others and prompt them to answer to get this tedious back and forth task over and done with. “This is from this week’s readings, which all of you would have been able to access from the EdVenture archives.” Do they even know where to locate EdVenture. Yes, Miya had sent regular updates to their emails whenever a new reading is uploaded and monitors the weakly discussion. Just last week he had to erase a whole chat as Para had went off in a tangent, connecting the 1911 Revolution that brought the end of the Chinese monarchy empire and the dissolution of modern capitalist societies, which was really a guise for him to discuss about his discontent with luxurious, pondering on the meaning of his spendthrift ways. This is not the proper forum to air his views the conversation had been derailed by Junie who proceeded to list out Para’s belonging that were cluttering up his room due to the lack of space in Para’s own room, with ILena unhelpfully sprinkling in suggestions about what to do with said belongings.

Yury is teaching a bunch of kids, a glorified job he has.

The problem with being part of the troupe as well as an instructor meant that some of the members would not be able to see you as an authority figure. Or perhaps Yury is not as persuasive as he would have to be.

“The possession of nuclear weapons is a sign of determent, to prevent others from invading and attacking.” Para is using his brain today, rattling off information that he had committed to memory on the spot, fiddling with his satelpad as he thumbed through the correct page. “It is one arm of foreign policy, the other being diplomacy. As the People’s Democratic Republic of Korea has erred more towards forceful conquest against encroaching Allied Powers and other nations that back the international police watchdog, it has to build up its weapons supply. Nuclear warfare is the most threatening force because we don’t actually know what would happen if a nuclear bomb is dropped.”

“Or they could, you know, do it. Press the red button just to test out their theory.” Chomping on a peach that he had gotten from the hearth, Junie had gotten lucky in rummaging the kitchen cupboards, the fruit in question most likely belonged to someone else. Finders keepers, he thought as the juice slewed down his chin. There was no name attached to the peach, they had rules.

“One strike will wipe entire nation out.” Quiet as a prowling cat, Miya offered her straight forward observation. The proverbial they that longed to come home, to reunify, to mend old wounds, but could not and cannot because roots had already grown in, and it was painful to remove what has mestasized and attached.

“You think they would though? Dare to go where no one has gone.” Para is the optimistic fellow, only because he wanted to live a peaceful life. If horrid events occurred after his death, well, it was not his problem.

“I don’t think so,” Michael crossed his fingers as he incessantly scratched his leg. Damn mosquitoes in the air, how the heck could such creatures tolerate the cool climate. Weren’t they tropical nuisances? He would have plum legs for the rest of the season. “If only because if they were to bomb the shit out of this side, it will definitely obliterate the entire country. Including them.”

“That, and you know, international politics, a gross misconduct of human rights, the whole enchilada,” Chlo added.

“I don’t think the Northern army cares enough about the world powers to deter them from coming if they really wanted to test their nuclear capabilities.” Para is playing the devil’s advocate.

“That’s what we think, and anyway, it’s not like as part of the community living on this side of the border, we can’t go any further.”

“Why not?”

“Its north. Further up lays the north border, separating this country from the other.” She did not feel the split in her heart, how can you when you have never known something nostalgic for others dreaming of their misty ancestral homeland. “They are there, and will open fire at anyone who crosses. They want see Seoul on fire, the entire peninsular, actually. Burn us all until we become part of the burnt wasteland.”  
A chill breeze blew in then, and Michael shivered, grabbing onto his shoulders and pulling at an invisible shrug. So that’s where we are, he speculated. Near the border, a place that could turn its back on them in a second, and rain hell that from afar looked and smelt like heavenly fire.

“Thank you Chlo, for your happy go lucky vision of the future. Now you’ve gone and scared Mikmik. He probably thinks he lives in a nihilistic country and we are the wimps to the empire.”

“Call it as I see it, Para. No point in telling what others want to see when we are in it every day.” Besides, she thought, no one came to Jang-Won without a bit of gung-ho stuff in them. Tough people, they are, or she had to convince herself to believe it.

In his mind, he could see. A mass in the middle of the ocean set ablaze, the orange in the threatening and churning blue. And the people, standing solemnly at the side, not dying for something that was never to be, when they fought to be as they are. In another reality, the sky is awash in manufactured crimsons and fashionable blacks, they lay bleeding their lives on the ground, fingers scrunched up to hold their staunch livelihood, never giving up their castle in the sky dreams. In a storybook, he could picture the barricades torn down, the rush of people to meet their friends and families, once divided by a war, their faces as they remembered, forever young.

It could not happen in any way he imagined.

“I doubt it would happen. It would be too much hassle and besides, the North doesn’t have the capability to out arm the South in a real war. All those images and videos of their nuclear weapons, splitting of the atom, bending space and time. Seriously, if they had the ability and scientific knowledge of breaking apart atoms, they would harness energy from the reactions to bend space and time, reach in other galaxies, colonise other planets with valuable resources. Talk is cheap, it’s all croc.”

“I’m not so convinced about the part where planetary alignments can be arranged, I’m pretty sure that’s you hypothesising. Stop inserting your own baseless theories. The Northern army though, could just manage to send their troops over. They maintain the border with Inner Mongolia pretty well, and the Chinese government remains neutral. Who’s to say they won’t start going on the offensive?”

Michael may not be a history buff, Chlo’s rebuttals spoke of her taking these issues seriously. But he could tell, being so physically close to the border, it was an everyday threat. The real question is why Jang-Won was built so close to a place where the possibility of armistice could occur.

“We’re all going to get fried anyway.”

“Fry, like burn up by sun? Ohh, I don’t know if normal people know how to do that!” Her pastel pink pigtails swaying from side to side with the shake of head, ILena is the ray of ironic sunshine who tried to be caring and peculiar, but the words that came out could spell inappropriate faster than the speed train to Seoul. She is still learning about this new world, including learning how to harden her Rs and soften her Vs. She is trying where many weaker heartened would stay in their comfort boxes. She had no choice. She had wide array of beauty products to arm her with a fresh face and creative up dos to face the world.

“I’m glad to see everyone actually thinking about this through.” Today’s discussion is quite fruitful, and Yury tried to end it before ILena had any ideas with starting a song using the words, “fry” and “people”. She would unknowingly have a fatalistic worldview. “For next class, please review the upcoming chapters on The Vietnam War as comparison case study.”

Michael got up with the rest of the class, gathering his satelpad as they descended the hill. Spending an hour sitting on a boulder yielded an intriguing dialogue about politics and international business, but his leg muscles felt cramp. He was itching to go to the training rooms, hook himself up to the harness and try a new move.

“You must buy me another peach, JunJun.” ILena patted him on the back as they made the way down. “Thank you for finishing my old one, it was becoming brown in the inside.”

 

 

 

_Gaming Centre, Sub-Underground Basement of Jangwon, Sokcho_

 

 

 

Pushing his ID card to the card reader, Michael let himself in as the doors swished open. Yeona had decided that today is a good day as any for Michael to observe the sessions within the Gaming Centre, an actual session with everybody on board. He had been going for all his classes, which included observing old matches with pairs, tutorials uploaded onto EdVenture, and had continued his conditioning and dance patterns, not to mention his other lessons that seemed structured but seemed to be units on esoteric knowledge. Michael is not sure when he will have to spout on about the different properties of digitalis, but knowledge is knowledge, and knowledge is treasure. What he had longed for, without verbalising it less he looked ungrateful when he wasn’t, receiving all these lessons and training, a life different than he has imagined for himself. Still, he yearned for witnessing a battle with everyone engaged. He could imagine, with the added simulation of the noises, and textures that he felt. The weeks spent immerse in his lessons, the seeds that had been planted were blooming and had flown by like days, and finally, a session with the entire troupe on board, and Michael could sit in as they navigated Inner Universe as one.

Walking into the Gaming Centre, he heard ILena walk up to him, telling by the bouncing steps she took. She skipped where she could walk, as though there is no need to stop and sit still for too long in life. “Excited, yes Mikmik? You can now know how we game.” She grabbed onto his arm, not wasting a moment to lead him around the room. Although Michael had sat inside while other members were manning the centre by themselves, no one gave a grand detailed tour for free like ILena did. “We keep time, many time, all the time,” ILena mentioned about the rows of digital clocks that set next to the switchboard. She read out the names of the places above rectangle face, the red digits glowing in the dim light. It was darker in some areas of the room, to preserve electricity. Too much must be stiffened off to maintain the game frame. Times displaying major cities around the world to unknown far flung locations that Michael had not heard about.

Ushering Michael to a roller chair next to her, ILena strapped him to his seat before she strapped herself. “We cannot move suddenly,” she tapped a few keys to boot up her computer, the screen going white as she logged in and checked her mainframe. “Sometimes, in battle, we get very excited, want to move around, like in game, like person in cage, we move, and then snap!” Pounding the table to emphasise her competition, the cotton candy fluff pens on her desk tickling Michael’s palm. He moved his hand away quickly before she could realise he was ticklish. Some secrets should not be turned into weapons of embarrassment. “We hit person in the face! Not in game, though that maybe good, if we are taking enemy out, but actual person, or table, or chair.”

“She broke my nose once,” Para offered, eyes trained on the screen to finalise the calculations required to move the submarine from its current dock. “Had to recast my nose in place. Didn’t put it on the medical claim, since I decided private treatment would get me some replasty rhino construction.”

“Dangerous game we are playing.” Yeona had told him that he would have his own station once they had this computer system set up. A modified system to accommodate him, it would come equipped with more visual aid adaptability, taking longer as it had to be screened and cleared against international regulation standards as well as gaming rules. It is a lot of work for something that is uncommon, in a world where disabilities went unseen, unheard and unspoken. Michael would like to speak up, but sometimes it was also nice to be silent, less people underestimate him. Yury thought it would be good for Michael to at least sit in for a few training sessions so for now, he got to sit next to ILena and hear what they were doing, hoping he could visualise it in his mind.

Chlo scrolled through the statistics, making sure they had enough fuel to travel from La Sirena to Mesotae. They had enough but would definitely need to stock up once they headed to Markel, where there was a huge marketplace. They could release their oxygen tanks for barter since it did not seem that they would be going back to sea for quite some time. “We’ve got the goods for when we emerge, but let’s try to make the journey out of the sea first. Yulyeong, put up the notice for 10 oxygen tanks for sale in Mesotae Square.”

“Up and running,” Junie had done his task before Chlo had sent him the notice. “We’ve got a few buyers lined up, some of them are offering food and minerals, Angeldecay. We need to be more discrete with the lava deposits though. Should be popular, and we don’t want any hacks.”

“Everyone settle down,” Yury, Hanmyeon, sat at his station at the helm, silently counting that all troupe members were present. Para and Chlo, Jie Yee and Angeldecay, with data at their fingertips. Junie, Yulyeong, in the corner near the switchboard, ready with communications and transmissions, Miya, TinyQueen poised by his side, her hair arranged in a no-nonsense tight bun. ILena, Kukla, bouncing in her seat, anxious to get rid of excess energy and Mikmik, unnamed as of yet, or properly termed as UnknownGuest08, unfortunately strapped next to her, along for the ride. Yeona does not participate in game sessions, in real time or not, with the exception of special circumstances. These special conditions of which Michael is not sure of exactly. He had tried to memorise the handbook and read up on the tutorial guides in EdVenture, but apart from technical knowledge of gameplay, he is not purview to the culture and practice, which can only be gained through experience.

“It’s time to zero hour,” Para grinned as his hands were on the padlock, the digital key on the screen set to unlock. Dragging the suspense, he felt that the adrenaline rush of starting a game, the tingles down the spine, the energy gathering at his fingertips, ready to switch and engage. It is high players spend years chasing after. All eyes were trained on the anachronistic Clock Tower positioned at the corner, not blocking the huge screen in front. Lovingly bought and placed there by Miya, who considered a hobby for old machines of lore past that were tossed aside to rot. It would have been out of place amongst the wires and cables, had it not been made in chrome and bronze, the ubiquitous colours of the era now. The long hand shifted from one short strand to 12.

The room remained sullen save for the hum of the computer systems. It is quiet in the world today. A pin could theoretically drop and they would hear the sound of the stab on the floor, facedown. A bright red light at the corner of the screen flashed, a gem announcing their entrance into Inner Universe. 

“We are in,” ILena whispered, adding her narration. She is probably playing it up for Mikmik, but she wanted him to know exactly what they were doing. She takes her job seriously. Michael knew that in Inner Universe, the troupe’s current location was at sea, in a cave to be more specific. They had spent a good three months underwater, searching for lost treasure, lava deposits that had hardened into malt that could be converted into many resources, such as fertiliser. It could be sold in the marketplace in Mesotae, an area whose predominant export is agriculture. After finding what little lava they managed to extract deep underground, they had settled into a cave due to reports of a kraken sighting. They had managed to avoid it, but now they had to come up for air, on Yeona’s instructions.

The troupe is camped inside a submarine, the screen displaying their playframe. It is hard to see past the murky darkness, the colour of decaying sea creatures. The submarine began to dislodge itself from the cave, moving out. TinyQueen and Hanmyeon expertly handled the transport, dodging high and low lying calcified columns that paled in the sandy waters, as they must have when it first hid in the caverns. With a slight bump against the teeth of the opening, they managed to safely manoeuvre them out of the cave and into the open waters.

And then, a loud boom that would have startled everyone from their seats if they had not been strapped in. The deafening crash propelled everyone forward into action.

“Buckle in everyone, this is going to be huge.”

A huge shadow fell onto the screen, the window of the submarine, tentacles flip flapping close like strands of drowned hair. “Shit, we just had to get the Kraken, like now,” Yulyeong muttered as his fingers flew over his keyboard, pulling up information on the subspecies Coleoidea, and searching for the ways to deflect it. “It’s going to squirt a nasty inky mess.”

“Glad we are inside here,” Angeldecay said from her station. How quick they forget that the barrier between worlds is physical, impenetrable, Michael thought. He could be kept up to date on the situation with everyone’s verbal contributions. We can’t feel it because we cannot touch it. But if the weeks of lessons had tried to ingrain in him, these imagined visions can feel more real than ever, especially when you were at the pilot seat riding this plane.

It is hard to discern the Kraken from its position at the mouth of the cave, the murky water cover shrouding much of the sight, even as TinyQueen put on one of their last Spectacles, an item that allows clearer vision, on the gameframe. As they prepared to slowly move out, avoiding the tentacles that would sucker on the surface of the submarine, they were hit with a large spray of sprinkles.

“Fuck, I hate people with access to those blasted sparkles,” Yulyeong growled as some of the sparkles hit the side of the submarine, bouncing and igniting the cave in a shower of light. He forgot that he himself like to accumulate demolition and might have been a tad jealous that this particular troupe possessed underwater explosives.

Using the octopus as a decoy, the enemy had hidden behind to come up to the front. “Blinded by the octopus,” Jie Yee unhelpfully supplied, although everyone in the room could almost countdown to when the inevitable ink squirt would create even more diversion. A thud rocked the submarine down. More curses rained down on them as Yulyeong unconsciously muttered into their speakers.

Tubular and metallic, a _K-141_ emerged. Stealth and limb, strong enough to break through arctic ice. “Yulyeong, any communication open?” Hanmyeon followed the rules, which included negotiating with the antagonist. Since seize and desist had not worked, they tried the more diplomatic route.

“Well, they did open the chat, but it’s nonsense,” Yulyeong pulled open the chat box, where a stream of taunts and jibes reflected at the side of the screen. “Pavlovdoniumbell, does he think he’s being smart with that name,” Angeldecay grumbled as the words became more vulgar. “Got a bit of a foul mouth on him.”

The _K-141_ continued to push them down, the explosions igniting the darkness. The combined forces of the pressure at this deep water level and the longer built Russian submarine pulled them further down. “We’re losing pressure levels,” Angeldecay continued to announce. “We need to move this baby back up before we go unconscious, and there will be no pseudo-Mediterranean buffet to speak of.”

“Move down,” Hanmyeon instructed, the lever on screen pushed down, the submarine moving further down. “Minus 300 metres,” Angeldecay called out. “If we keep getting blocked, we need to create something that will push it away,” Hanmyeon turned to Angeldecay and Jie Yee, barking out more orders. “Pull up the thrust; we are going 110 miles per hour.”

“Backwards? Are you out of your mind?” If Jie Yee was not half afraid of Hanmyeon, despite his smaller size, he might have ignored him. He could not do so today, as Hanmyeon sat at the top of the troupe, overseeing their responsibility.

“Brace yourselves.” That was the only warning the participants in the room received before the submarine went further down, to 325 metres, the engine creating a ruckus, the sounds bouncing off the speakers. Michael winced at the shuttering noise, the juddering of a turbine grounding up air. Air that spun the waters, turning them into mini swirls. Buffeted by the cyclones, the submarine was pushed upwards, the lift of water, air and pressure propelling them straight towards the enemy.

“Here we go!” Jun Jie cried as their transport carriage slide just to the left hand side, the groaning of metal scratching against metal thundering. Minus 310, minus 300, minus 290,” Angeldecay recited in rehearsed fashion, counting off the milestones she was reading of their metre level. Speed at 110 miles per hour, reduce to 80 miles per hour at minus 50 metres.” A few more sparkling lights bounced of the surface of the submarine and then, they were too far away from the intruder. “Suck on that,” Jun Jie pressed onwards, his knuckles turning red from shoving force on the keys.

However, they could not afford to travel fast when shoring themselves, the pressure that was exerting it downwards would then ride with it, breaking them and possibly everything against it into smithereens. Part of the glass of the submarine window started webbing from within, splintering into tiny cracked webs as the submarine swam up with the pressure piling up on.

Seconds before they broke the surfaced of the sea water, their speed is further reduced from 80 miles to 70 miles per hour, before the water edged out, and up the went. The submarine’s head lifted first, then came down with a loud plonk, going underneath again just a few metres below. This would prevent detection from other rivals that lurked in the air, invisible within whitewashed scenery of the clouds. “Ladies and gentleman, we have reached the upper euphotic level, where most sea creatures we consume inhabit. The skies are clear today, and we expect it to continue though out the day. It will take us approximately 15 minutes or so for us to reach land. Sit back and relax as we head for the sunny beaches of Andonio.” Angeldecay spoke out, her air cruise impersonation instructing their plan. “But no, don’t relax. We should be able to make it back to shore without further surprises.”

“That’s enough drama for now,” Hanmyeon ordered Angeldecay and Jun Jie to continue cruising 20 feet below the surface. “No need to attract attention above water.” That included anything from sky scanners, battleships, pirates, looters, which were the less harmful creatures.

“Don’t speak so soon,” TinyQueen said, even when everyone visibly breathed a sigh of relief. The hard leg of this journey was over, the preparation to land would be another.

“How did you like that,” Kukla asked Michael, strapped and still in his seat. “Not very exciting, I know. We have better game sessions, wait until you can come for match! And we are going back to soil, cheer up. There were be more magical things there! One day, you can play with us.”

This is Inner Universe, and people most feared to fall, and land upright in a world where everything was upside down.

Michael sighed as he sat in his seat. He hoped the world would run smoothly from here on. There was only so much stimulation he could take.

 

 

 

_Training Room Q, Jang-Won, Sokcho, Goseong County, Republic of Korea_

 

 

 

“Here are some sets to do,” Kim Sseong-nim called out before Junie and Michael had even put their bas down on the bench, their feet pounding on the floor as they made their way to the mat to do their warm up exercises. “I’ve already set the music, so you don’t have to waste time dawdling about, trying to match to the beat. This is something you will have to learn to do on your own, when you began to create your own dances.”

They had conditioning before movement, so Junie and Michael arrived sweating, their muscles groaning from the exerting themselves in labour. Their bodies will have to be arranged to follow a pattern again, requiring concentration to move their body in a series of patterns. The sets today were drawn from different dance styles, Michael distinctly heard off hand as Kim Ssim explained from her usual position at the sidelines. The previous lessons had been short dance patterns, since Michael had first started. Kim Ssim is hoping to up the ante and is planning to give them full routines.

While Michael enjoyed these dance exercises the most out of his daily training schedules, swirling around in the darkness where he could feel almost invincible out of touch alone, this also made it the hardest for him to stay in pattern. Namely, being in synch with Junie. Even after many sessions of them trying to force fit their bodies side by side, contorting limbs until the pieces would fit together to form an intricate puzzle, it came apart as a tangled mess of limbs, sprawling on the floor often, or hands and legs twisted at odd angles, splintered and bruising.

“Concentrate Mikmik.” Focus, he took a laboured breath in.

It might go smoother if Junie were to spare a bit of support instead of aggressively refuting every single opening. Michael could memorise the dance pattern and individual segments, but also had to try to accommodate a partner. He placed one step forward before his foot came into contact with Junie’s leg and he slipped down on the mat.

But he had not been concentrating fiercely when he had forced that windfall that wet wall to move back to the sea where it had arisen. Instincts from exact, life-changing instances are hard to remember, let alone conjure to replicate.

_Forfeit the game._

Those words flashed in his mind again, breaking his tense concentration, the tightly strung rope taut on both ends.

“Hold on, Mik. I said hold on.”

Do not let them in, damn it.

It’s only another game you can’t win.

“Hold on, Mik, do not think.”

All these routines, these dances where he twirled his body round and round, there is only one way to go, there is no end to a circle, but to keep going, unless he broke the cycle with other manoeuvres, other stabs in the dark. A right hand waving gently, a leg pointed out.

_He never cried when he became blind._

Stumbling out of place, his leg jammed in a horribly oft position.

“Hold Mik.”

He got his body back into position, beginning the arc in when he swoops into a jump. Pausing half a second before take-off, he launched his body into a throw.

“Goddamit, get into fucking position.”

He did not have to hear Junie’s angry words when so many others were shouting at him. Maybe if he didn’t have to keep up with his dance, he could be free.

_Before you get taken out of the game._

Into darkness he comes, the cradling him with open arms.

 

 

~.~

 

 

“Quite a fall you took,” A tenor voice as he woke up from the dredges of sleep that threatened to pull him back in. Para? Yury? Junie? Yury is manning the Gaming Centre, if Michael groggily remembered the schedule in his email and Junie would only be dragged near his vicinity kicking and screaming. It is Para then.

Michael pushed himself up with his forearms, before his head decided to drop back on the lumpy pillow like a lead balloon. His head felt a throbbing pain at the back of his head. He probably had a few bumps swelling, forming a rigid constellation right this moment. “How long was I out for?”

“A few days.”

“A few days?! What – “ Lost hours that he could never reclaim.

“Heh, chill, you’re easy to scare. You’ve only been out ten minutes or so.”

Para sat next to Michael on the bed, gathering his limbs parallel to Michael’s such that their knees knock against each other, Para’s bony shoulders cutting into Michael’s face due to his slightly larger frame. Some people did not have any qualms getting into other’s business, or pretended not to know and read social cues and adhere to them.

“Junie and I had to carry you out. I stuck my head around your armpit to lift you up, now we’re friends.” His voice is loud, sitting next to Michael.

Good to know, Michael thought. Sharing personal space and being encroached in your personal boundaries was the way to bond and make lifelong friendships. He better learn quickly, these were people he had to depend on during battle sessions.

They would also depend on him.

“I could tell you that Junie’s been through a lot in life, his father’s an unemployed drunkard and his mother couldn’t take the abuse anymore, so she upped and left, leaving Junie to fend for himself, cook and clean for him and his father, while he supported himself through school with his part time job at a convenience store. Would that make you feel sorry for him?”

“What – “ There is so much information overloaded in a jammed pack train of a single paragraph that Michael is not sure how to processed all of it at once.

“Good, because everything I just said is a load of crap. Junie’s an asshole, because that’s what he is. He can be ok when he is less annoying, like when he’s not stealing food and irritating us to death with his bad jokes.”

Michael fingered the comforter, the soft wool sliding between his fingers. Para had hit the nail in the head about his and Junie’s rocky relationship, tension that did not lessen with Michael downplaying the story. While Yeona A-teh had paired him up with the sullen, cheeky boy, Michael could tell he did not welcome the intrusion. Which did not make sense, considering they had to work as a team. Wanting to fly solo will only make you vulnerable, without having the protective cover of another set of wings.

“I would tell you he will come around, but that is probably another lie too, and I figured you don’t like to beat about the bush, and would want the truth.”

Trying to roll out of the bed again, Michael wished he did not suddenly exert more force to get up, the blood rushing to his head, and he fell back into vertigo horizontally, his face mashed in the pillow.

“And you probably should not have done that too.”

Michael could only give a weak grin. He could give a finger salute, but he was too darn lazy, his face pinched and frozen by needles, his gaze seeing spindles.

“Rest up, Mikey boy. You have a lot to catch up. We take no slackers in Jang-won.”

 

 

 

_Sokcho Municipal Library, Sokcho, Goseong County_

 

 

 

He stared at the long screen, that seemed to grow outside the edges of the monitor, the lines of script that would not be contained within the four lines scrawling onto the walls beside his table. The light rays, natural and manufactured bouncing on mirrors, on each other, did not affect him, when it is blurry when the light hits his eyes. He could not see the daily grind of office work, where a mug empty of its coffee, drops spilt and seeping onto the woodwork table, piles of paper that should be neatly placed in and out trays, the calendar pasted to death with sticky notes until no trace of the dates could be seen.

Michael did not understand how being assigned to work in a library would be useful, but Jang-won had to keep up pretences, perhaps. Appear unseeingly normal, a dull block in an otherwise concrete shantytown, right angle lines in a square of domesticity, not sticking out with round edges to the public life. Thus, must have been Yeona’s brilliant plan for Jang-won to operate a public library. A way to earn money while leading a false front. A bunch of foreigners were not ideal in this small seaside town, not plotting to cause potential trouble and be a hazard to this close knit community, if they were working and using their idle minds to provide a service. Although by investing more to cater to the population a free of charge collection, Michael could not see how this venture is profitable. In a country where most could turn to their satelpads and stream video content to lose themselves inside, how traditional media forms could attract people was lost on Michael. But this is a sleepy town, only generating a hubbub during the day, those who wish to see a glimpse of the infamous mountains, hoping one day that they may scavenge for diamond and fortune hand in hand.

It is tranquil though, to have this peace and quiet around him in the middle of day, in between brutal conditioning sessions and havoc shock gaming lessons. The smooth hum of the heater, the smell of old books that have not been lovingly held for years, the few old models of satelpads available for loan cable locked to viewing stations. Michael could almost transport himself to a place with few computers that did not mark the digital agedness of this world, with the strong smell of detergent and salt, and the muted yells of people selling bargains.

One ping, two.

Tugging one ear piece out to better hear the sounds emitted from the desktop, Michael continued typing the sentence, hearing the loud ping that determined he had reached the end of the line, pressed the side shift button and began a new line. Michael lives a life of neat fresh starts. That tells him where to begin and where to end. Jang-won and its occupants are accommodating him, with their sound technology and modified textures and railings. Or maybe Michael was feeling and hearing what he wanted to.

The music in his left ear poured out the strains resembled the gulls that skimmed across the waters looking for fish, the view of wintery snow capped mountains that stood sombre and beautiful as the sun slowly shone on them, of crickets that came out to play at night. Stock images of what we consider desktop default beauty. The beat for this music is too obvious, not that regular patterns were overrated. Everyone would have listener’s fatigue after once in a while, tired of listening to the point of no hearing. But this did not require careful concentration. The pieces Kim Ssim were a bit too simplistic and while Michael knew he had to master the basics before he could feel the rhythm for more advanced level symphonies, he wanted something more elegant and fatuous. At least something a bit more stimulating before his brain turned to classified mush in this warm oven.

Opening up a web browser, his desktop helpfully announced that he was in the music library. He ought to stick to the same genre of music, go back a few decades, take it down to subtle, but with dramatic movements. He rifled through the library, lost in the numerous pieces available at his fingertips. So many more musical inspirations than he was used to, his fingers already moving to feel the vibration from the speakers that had not sounded, thinking of a time when he could strum a few chords, pluck a few strings. When the world did not change so much, when he could touch, hear and see the music. He chose a compilation of music from different composers. His fingers dancing on the counter top, counting invisible spiders to _Piano Concerto No.2_ , chasing floating dust motes merrily with a _Hungarian Dance_ his index fingers flex up and down like a comical conductor, the slim fingers that lightly tapped scrunching up the nails scratching the counter to a sombre _Toccato And Fugue in D minor_.

The strains of a viola quietly tuning, a lilting voice wanting to be heard. This soft tone turned violently abruptly, struggled with the cello, before segueing into a softer melody, and then lowly fast. The violin came, shrill and struggling against the trombone, to be heard over the building beat of the cello. the bars of music imprisoned in his ears, his eardrums ringing chords from his earplugs.

When the music piece was over, he quickly checked for the title on the sidebar, his fingers slipping and almost pressing the button to skip to the next song to play. _Danse Macabre_ , the electronic voice told him. Those words do not mean anything to him sound foreign and sour on his tongue, but there was a strong, steady undercurrent, threatening to overtake everything, like the music.

He had found a piece suitable for practice, inspired by its powerful melody. Snapping his head back up, he stood up, stretching his hands over his, sighing as he felt a few back bones creep up and pop back into his spindly vertebrae. The sudden exhaustion that overcame him nearly took him back down to his seat. It is tiring to concentrate, to listen for something that was fit for a queen. He decided to refill his tea and take a walk around the stacks, perhaps get the blood circulating back into his legs that felt congealed, sitting still in one position for a long period of time.

A mug of pumpkin tea would be the object that tied him back to where he currently is. There is much pumpkin to go around.

 

 

 

_Gaming Centre, Sub-Underground Basement of Jang-won, Sokcho_

 

 

 

“She wanted us to get out of the deep trenches and move to shore,” Para swiped his satelpad, searching for the required coordinates to steer their submarine to land. “Thinks we need to get our sea legs out of the way, go somewhere more urban. Possibly for competition.”

Para and Chlo are on night duty, co-manning the station. Not one of Chlo’s favourite part of their schedules, but someone had to be there at all times. She could use the time to catch up on reviewing past competitions. Today’s handpicked video stream is from the ’Championships a decade ago, Ppalgansaeg Segye versus Taka. Those two troupes were at the height of their popularity, reigning dominant, trading places on the podium in various competitions, qualification rounds and friendly matches. Hah, as though there were ever any friendlies. She also liked to scrutinise the different fighting styles. It may be hard to tell the difference, the movement pixelated into a thousand squares, the scenery blurring when the connection was not streaming linearly. But at certain moments, when the avatars became characters, that created moves that stumped the audience, pulling out plays that were complex, that later became immortalised and printed and regurgitated in guidebooks and hailed across the interwebs as something admirable and fearsome, when moves became iconic to be emulated and copied in poor fashion within the amateur ranks.

When idols are born.

Chlo is not sure if she wanted to be one of those, or just play for kicks. For now, she is making sure that their submarine makes its way to shore.

Playing in real time meant that Inner Universe mimicked actual distances and time. If it takes 5 hours to cross 70 miles of water, it would take the same amount within the game to travel. “Well, it has been some time since we were on land. Not a bad idea, come up for air, stock up on edible food. We have nothing but freeze dried stuff that keeps for high pressure environments, but would be utterly useless when we are at sea level.” Chlo is also dying for some barbeque food, which you just cannot acquire or make in the deep waters. At least, she was projecting onto her avatar, her self in the game, that she would in all honesty, be lost, without access to proper food. None of that dried meat and noodles that tasted like rancid chicken from 30 years ago. It was all shop talk, as the troupe was making their way to land, from their previous expedition in the sea.

“We’re probably going to be stuck in a dungeon. Or in a rainforest. Water’s too unimaginative, you know. And blurry. Can’t get the cameras into the pools to film all our actions.”

“You think, or you think the polls think?” Para may dabble in betting potential locations for the qualification rounds on the RuneSkate. If anybody asked, they would only traced his bets back to a 98 year old lady living in Gdansk, Poland, who had a basic modem level desk top satelpad. Para enjoyed being both competitor and spectator, discussing old wartime strategies that could possibly be modified and used in gameplay, to who was potentially the hottest player behind the computer screen.

“Don’t forget the temperature is between frostbite cold and freezing your ass off. I doubt PMC would risk having their gamers starve to their death in the Olegska mountains.” Sitting up from where he was taping up a tiny hole on a cable, Para went back to his game station to check his satelpad.

“How do you know we’ll get Europe? Maybe we’ll get North America, or Oceania.”

“Because it’s our first time entering the professional tournament. Yeona-eonni will probably want us closer, nearby, where we don’t tire ourselves travelling thousands of miles just to arrive at the destination and say hello. The Americas are too far and forget Australia, she’s not sending us to the middle of bum-fuck nowhere. Geographically speaking.”

“You speak as though we have a choice where we get sent. The International Gaming Association chooses where we go, we have the freedom to agree to go there. Not like anyone would reject an offer to participate in the official qualification rounds.”

Shuddering at the mere mention of B competitions, Chlo was glad they did not have to contend with making their official gaming debut on the B circuit. Official rounds were A-grade, meaning optimum level, meaning at least players came from certified troupes, their credentials listed in the world gamer records that had every gamer from Inner Universe acknowledged. Those who failed to make it to the official qualifications, judging from samples of their battle sessions, could do a slew of lower level competitions to rank up enough points to enter the Grand Championships. Those were a death match, standards often lowered to allow less than nefarious players with often blocked or incomplete records. While gamers did not have to reveal everything on page, omission of information is another revelation of their lack of sincerity.

In battle, it translates to competition organiser’s lack of scrutiny and the player’s cunning competitiveness, leading to often death matches. Matches that made the injury clause more potent.

“I don’t think that should be our real concern anyway,” Para muttered, glancing at the Clock Tower, the hands lifting to tick away the time. Looking at old clocks made the time go slower, watching hands spin against stroked lines, marking the passage of time. The digital ones measured time equally, not showing the metrological process of striking from one carefully quantified distance to another. It is scary not to see the behind the scenes that makes up this great theatre production.

“We should be more worried about whether we are all trained. The worst form of gaming is when we come unprepared.”

 

 

 

_Training Room W, Sub-Underground Basement of Jang-won, Sokcho_

 

 

 

The awkward pause of the cello surrendered to the pull of string on violin to produce the shrill violin that started the crescendo. While this may seem startling at night, Michael felt his body thrum and sing, coming alive under this strong music.

It is almost a vitriolic experience, dancing with his entire being, the energy that could lift him up, not float aimlessly, but choose to suspend at the right intonation, limbs poised at the right step before quickly blending into step sequence. Fly his body in stop motion. This piece is liberating in a way that other more structured dance patterns forced his movements to be too synchronic to the point of mechanical clockwork. Could he imagine the cruel beauty of others who may have danced to it. A majestic pattern that demanded the body to be a slave to it, dancing rigorously to its harsh, and slow, then faster up-tempo.

“What are you doing?” Yeona’s voice is low, creeping into the room steadily with its gravel timbre, an answer expected. Her eyes were wide, the unmarred side of her face white, more pale as pallour, as though she was staring at her own ghost. She clutches the set of keys against the side, her nails pinching full moons on her palm.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Michael told his music to pause, and the symphony stopped. The room is in silence, drenched in a tense tension, without the melodramatic urge to spin and jump. “I was just practising. We can use the training rooms according to what Yury told us, after dinnertime, any time we are free. I really wanted to get this dance pattern.” He is rambling about something he is allowed to do. “Sorry, did you need to use the room? I can go,” Michael walked to the side to get his bag and cane.

Not doing much, she is. Locking up the rooms, the passageways, the spaces of Jang-won for the night, with the exception of the Gaming Centre, where someone was required in there at all times. Even with digital screens and locking mechanisms, it is always best to lock and check personally.

No one wants to find anyone’s skeleton.

“How did you do that?”

“Sorry, how did I do what?”

“The dance. All of it.” Yeona got a hold of herself, making herself clear to him. She did not want to pinpoint any exact segment, since the whole sequence flew into a haunting melody.

When she had danced.

“I ahh, lots of practice. It’s not perfect yet though.”

“It never is.” She continued, but not to reassure him of his capabilities, as she trusted him to know where his current standards lay. “That’s the beauty of it.” When it is paired together with a haunting melody, one must be vulnerable to truly dance with the music, and human being imperfect, their faults and weaknesses lay bare to dance to.

“Well, I’m sure you can keep up.” She is aware that he is making an effort to be with the music. The timing he could improve, to catch up on a misstep and sticking in seamlessly so that a glitch is an intentional wavelength fall, before going back up, and then wind milling down.

“How did you manage to do that?”

“Stay on balance?” Yeona must have heard the reports from Kim Ssim, as expected that she would. She is keeping them room and board and could therefore be paid in secrets, in their private thoughts..

“I did well, ah, precisely what you said.”

“What I said.” Yeona continued to look straight at him, though however she did, it would not affect someone that cannot be looked at in the eyes.

“Ah sorry! I mean, what Kim Ssim- Kim Seonsaeng-nim said.

Mikmik is straightforward to a fault to the point that he took things as it were, and yet, hidden in these points, laid the answer to his quandaries.

“Kim Seonsaeng-nim said do not think, and I ah, just did not think.”

“You did not think?”

“No, I just followed where my body took me.”

How peculiar, yet it worked, especially for this violently delightful piece. Be careful Mikmik, if you let yourself get caught in this maelstrom, it might sweep off your feet, until your toes cannot touch the ground. This might buoy you, keep you afloat as you ride the waves. Or you may be too patient and try to out swim the current to catch the latest note, and drown in the waves, the mysterious undercurrent that pulls you down back to a never-ending bottom.

“Have you thought of dancing to something less overpowering? How about _Malaguena_? It has a flair to it.” And if he wanted something more energetic, he could use modern popular music pieces.

“I think this is good, it’s so wrought with strong and soft beats, coming together, crashing against each other.”

A high you can carry on, until you come crashing down.

“Maybe Broadway pieces? _Phantom of the Opera_?” Yeona had seen and heard enough Phantoms to last several lifetimes. If anyone in the troupe practiced to it, Chlo would digitally block the downloading of the tracks on Jang-won server, spoil the physical music tracks by dropping the disc into the heath fire and stomp on the remaining shards, scattering them in manure planted in the orange orchard. She had done this before when Para, Junie and surprisingly Sasha, whose tastes ran between 1960s psychedelic electronica and tribal animal sounds, decided to use the movie soundtrack as background noise during training sessions.

“Do you not like this music, Yeona A-teh?”

She looked at him, not because he may have revealed something less true, but at the formal term of address he had used.

“It’s a term for older woman,” Mikmik said, not calling to question the lady’s age, but stating the truth as he saw it in relation to what he knew and felt. “Where I live-lived, it’s for someone with more experience and wiser.” Yeona had a few years on her, closely around her, surrounding her scarred skin so tight until it became a second tougher skin, her brittle armour.

She accepted his terms.

“Mikmik?” She made sure he looked up at the sound of her voice.

“Only dance to this piece alone.”

He does not know the power that belongs to those who create great masterpieces in their name.

He would learn the meaning of the title of any piece he used.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Hell hath no fury. 
> 
> Thank you for reading, just seeing people who turn to this story is great. Happy Labour Day.
> 
> Soundtrack:
> 
> 1\. Run Boy Run by Woodkid  
> 2\. Stillness of the Mind by Abel Korzeniowski  
> 3\. Raven by Do As Infinity  
> 4\. Halcyon And On And On by Orbital


	5. Chapter 4 - Thriving Ivory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One world is not enough for humans. So we made more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone who have come along for the ride.

**Thriving Ivory**

 

 

 

_Hearth, Jang-Won_

 

 

 

The season is threading down faster than they can train. Even if Michael cannot see it, he can sense the minute changes in the environment. The slight chill in the breeze brushing underneath his nails when he was outside, the ripened peaches that they pick in abundance from the fruit orchard. The troupe members pass this sense of urgency amongst themselves, going from one lesson to another class with the determination to complete their own goals. The logbook detailing practice sessions outside regularly scheduled training is filled to the brim, it is hard to get a free slot in the training rooms. There are battle strategies to memories, formations to configure, items to be packed.

 

“So, what’s gotten everyone so down?” Junie slapped himself on a seat, digging into the lunch meal of mashed potatoes and spicy vegetables, warming his stomach.

 

“How about the fact that it is afternoon and we actually lost a training match? A freakin’ match, made from data compiled from past gameplays, that is designed for us to test ourselves and ultimately allow us to pass after a certain time limit. We’re doomed!” Chlo almost slammed her face first into her plate before realising that it was filled with squished potatoes and quickly proceeded to slapped herself against Miya, who gently picked up one morsel of evenly cut potato from her bowl with her fork and placing it in her mouth.

 

“It wasn’t as hopeless a case as you are making it out to be.” ILena patted Chlo, her rainbow coloured nails plastic and gleaming. Yury had made most of the rules during gaming, one is that long nails not allowed during gaming sessions, as it was difficult to tap on the keys and it interfered with crucial key configurations. He did not say anything regarding fake nails when not gaming, and ILena loved the little packets sold at the convenience store. Her nails today were rainbow coloured, since she could not decide which colour to stick to. One nail for every major shade there is then, topped with glitter droplets that spelt out her name in Cyrillic alphabet.

 

“It was in training mode. The algorithms manufacture for us easier opponents that we should be able to best.” Para winced at Chlo’s remark, agreeing at her worrying assessment. Miya would definitely be scheduling them for more intensive training sessions.

 

“I’m sure Yury has told Sasha to give us give us tougher skills, rather than have a round of go collect the stones. We have enough rubies and sapphires to house a natural museum of minerals.” Junie is the guilty one at the table, loving to gather the simple items that appeared and are meaningless, but just shone so brightly in their pixelated goodness.

 

“In any case, we could use a few more fluorite and gadolinite to our collection. Got to have some rare gems. Those go for a lot on the market.”

 

Michael would normally quickly eat his meals, but today he only had library duties to tend to in the afternoon, and that would only start an hour and a half later. It is rare that he gets a little time to spare now, every hour spent training, conditioning, academic discussions, training  and therapy when he gets injured during training. More training sessions have been scheduled for all troupe members, Miya keeping up with every single timetable. For now, he could choose to spend the time pondering on a question that Yury has asked him earlier. Everyone has his or her roles to play, on and off line. Even Yeona-ateh, who has disappeared from Jang-won on business. Maybe off to get another unsuspecting person from a village in the middle of nowhere.

 

All players had official names. Including trolls and puppet accounts. Heck, guilds and federations within Inner Universe also had their own formal titles.

 

Take your time, he had said. But not to long, left unsaid.

 

“Hey, Mikmik, don’t be so had on yourself,” Para said from beside him, shoving a potato into his mouth, sauce dripping onto the table, staining deeper circles into the oak. “You don’t have to pick some fancy name.”

 

“Hah, says the guy that took two whole months to think of a name for himself,” Chlo retorted, as she scooped up kimchi unto her plate.

 

“A name is only important if you make it.”

 

“It’s alright to not have a ridiculously extravagant name, with lots of meaning and history connected to it.” Chlo tried to be helpful. Certain players had thought long and hard, mulling over names that were imbued with the deepest interpretation and sentiment. To her, she had enough of ludicrous handles that when said aloud were absolutely bombastic. “Imagine, someone called BigBird637. Or GrandDarkLordofDarkness. Pretentious shitheads. Or Imadic. Say it three times, really fast.”

 

“A name, what’s in a name?”

 

“Enough riddles, Chlo. I don’t think we can take Shakespeare now.”

 

She shot him a glare. “You don’t appreciate a good quote,” she responded, although she did not add any further comment, conveying that she was either too exhausted herself or she could not bother to make intelligible conversation with anyone over breakfast so early in the day, even though it is mid-afternoon.  Taking the midnight shift at the Gaming Centre had conked her out, on top of their gruelling schedules.

 

“People try so hard in matters that are not needed the most.” Yury gave wise advice that would benefit his teammates. He turned to Mikmik, scooping some berry yoghurt unto his bowl. “Just make sure it isn’t something close to your out of world name. No one wants to be known for who they are.”

 

He had already given, assigned himself another name to be called by. They all had, really. What is one more that he can be accustomed to, to say hellos and goodbyes. Another name, characters to hide behind and plunder.

 

Michael should not have taught there was time to think of names when it felt mundane. These were just titles to live by. He did not have a good crying jag when he told Yeona what he was to be called, and considered using the name MikMik in Inner Universe. It was nothing better, nothing worse, than his current guest mode handler UnknownGuest08. He thought about asking Yury if he could pick that name but he did not think Yury will see the humour in it. If he could pick his name out of a hat and be done with it, he would not mind that any less.

 

“Eat up your lunch, boy.” Miya said as she stood up, her plate clear. The others we also finishing and proceeding to the sink to wash up. “Don’t be a slow poke.” No one should slow down everyone else.

 

 

 

_Conference Room, First Floor, East Wing, Jang-won_

 

 

 

“We’re received our invitations,” Yury announced, placing his satelpad on the table for everyone to see. He had called a formal meeting into the conference room, everyone to report immediately, bypassing all scheduled activities, no excuses. Everyone had come from their various jobs and relocations and crowded around, a sea of hair, both real and possibly inauthentic.

 

Invitations to the qualification rounds had to be formally sent to all troupes to earn points for the Grand Championships at the end of the season. Teams that had not made the cut had to contend with competing in a slew of Senior “B” competitions to earn enough points to qualify. Michael would count his blessings that they did not have to go into battle in small competitions, judging by the relief of the rest of the troupe, but thinks it would be good to test their feet in shallow waters first before plunging into the deep end. If what Yury informed him and the game tutorials online read, the qualification stages were adopted a more structured Grand Prix schedule, doing 2 would ensure that troupes could advance to the final Championships. That made these two rounds brutal, with troupes fighting to the death to get a decent placement to proceed, as other upcoming teams from the “B” comps would be brooding in the wings, waiting to take their place with higher scores. The invitations are used to validate their entries in the competition. Chlo told him how there were a few each year that claimed to have lost theirs in the email, trying to sneak in to the premises. Their troupes were disbarred from International Gaming Association pool of active applicants and their game registered names were immediately voided null in Inner Universe.

 

Michael is not sure how this would deter them from going back in, but Yury is always a stickler for rules, and if IGA tracks all of its parties, they definitely had records of individual members. Still, individuals could still try to go in as new players, but they would have to start from scratch. Which is alright if you wanted to play for harmless fun, but if you are signing up to play on the professional circuit, it can take a long time to build up your reputation and rapport with other characters, and finding a new troupe that would accept your tarnished reputation.

 

Playing to escape reality where this world becomes your reality.

 

The email looked like a standard template for a set of instructions. The first page featured huge symbol, ornate and stately. ILena proclaimed it the seal of Prize of Moscow Challenge, the Russian federation. This indicated that they were selected to take part in the qualification round based in Europe. The attached file contained the time they were supposed to arrive at their destination, but other than that, it was sparse of actual details, except for the sentence typed at the bottom. Yury brushed his fingers on the satelpad to scroll down past the empty blank space.

 

 

_Begin at the beginning,_

 

 

Before an intelligible series of code.

 

“I don’t see anything,” Chlo stated the obvious, leaning against the table with her arms folded. Wearing a sleeveless top, her arms were bare, revealing the multitude of tattoos that moved across, her fingers tapping against her arm. A flick of a koi’s tail, the teeth wings of a heron, and other animals and assortments that may or may not exist. They remain stationary in the shade, running in the light, in between the fringes of her lost in her long vest.

 

Yury pressed a thumb on his satelpad, as though his flanges would emphasise his driving point. Miya carefully hooked up the satelpad to the projector so that everyone could try to see what he saw, Yury shooting her a grateful look. “Look closer.”

 

“No, really, all I see is a bunch of codes, and lines. With words. I think. Are those letters,” Para squinted his eyes against the brightness of the projector screen, the message magnified and glaring, searing into their eyes in the hopes that they would be able to discern it. A puzzle, Michael thought. These competitions sure knew how to make a grand entrance to the start of a season.

 

“What is that?”

 

“They look like chicken scratches.”

 

A flurry of conversations broke out amongst themselves. Yury held up one hand to try to regain some semblance of order.

 

“The hell, last I checked, we are gamers, not artsy poets. What are we supposed to do with a bunch of codes slash half-assed code slash badly written poetry.”

 

“It’s as I stated, the invitations. A clue of sorts.”

 

“We have to solve it,” that is Michael’s contribution of the day. “A puzzle.” They should be able to solve it, they did this on a daily basis. Their training, conditioning. They had to think of ways to overcome their challenges, to compensate any weaknesses, to take care of any blind spots. It made sense that a competition that made a play over games would in turn send their invitations in the form of a delightful puzzle.

 

“You are gamers, these are puzzles for you to solve as to where your destination lies.” Yury nodded in Michael’s direction. To be invited to the sanctioned, prestigious qualification rounds, one would expect it to be difficult from the get go. Para did not look surprised, having kept up with the rumour mills online, while the some accepted this as a facet to the games they would be playing, and others looked plain pissed. There is more work to be done, on top of their cramped extra-curricular activities list.

 

“No, this Russian!” ILena screeched, grabbing the satelpad and holding it up to her nose. “I read this,” the start of her sentence was high, before it tailed off, as she continued reading and a frown begin to form at the corner of her lips. “This, it is old.”

 

“Not only is this shite poetry, it’s in Russian.”

 

“Now, now, Junie, just because you can’t understand it.”

 

“How old are we talking about,” Yury asked, taking out his cell phone to look up something while his satelpad is currently in ILena’s possession.

 

“Old, very old. Traditional.”

 

“We can translate it,” Chlo pulled out her own satelpad, making notes while combing their resources and pulling up new windows with various translation programmes.

 

“We can try,” ILena smiled at her as she placed the satelpad onto the desk. “I’ll ask Sasha, he might know more.”

 

Swiping through the sites that Chlo had shared, Para maximised the window of one and scrolled down rapidly to the bottom. “I’m sure the organisers are doing this for the shit and giggles. Or hoping that this further whittles down the number of participating troupes. What are we going to make out of this?”

 

Junie uploaded it to the general SharePoint so that everyone had access to the sites and get a head start. “Be grateful, I heard last year troupes had to find the invitations themselves. They were hidden at the bottom of underwater caves, buried beneath this specially protected species of coral that you couldn’t excavate or you would be disqualified, and you needed to get inside via submarine. This time round, they sent it to us via email.”

 

“That’s a joke right? Not cool, Para.”

 

“No, I read it on RuneSkate. Someone managed to leak out information on how players receive their invitations, what they have to do to get to their starting points. There can be a lot of hoops and rings to jump through before we even arrive at the competition itself.”

 

“Possibly to limit the number of near deaths. There was one time where some players almost got pecked to death when scaling mountains to get the invitation papers slotted in between ridges.”

 

Everyone stared at Yury. He now had their full attention again. “Not that it actually happened,” he smiled at them slowly, showing no teeth. “We will have to split into groups, work this out the way we know.”

 

Yury assigned Para to look up RuneSkate for any updates they could potentially use, Miya to search through their huge archives of game tutorials, archaic and modern, for past similarities with other puzzles, Junie and Chlo to secure communications with and from other incoming third parties that might try to steal their data, ILena to check on Sasha, and then he turned to Michael. “Find a pattern, if you can.” Michael nodded, he can do that. “And a name too.”

 

 

 

_Sub-sub Basement, Jang-won_

 

 

 

It is a clown’s mixed bag, flinging a hand to gather the assortment of odd objects inside and thrown into the air, creating this jumbled setting. Empty frames hung on the walls along with charts and maps, littered with pins. Large tomes with yellowed, serrated edges are piled around the room next to several flat screens. There is a table strewn with scientific apparatus, test –tubes, microscopes, and colourful liquids of questionable origins in jars. Amulets, jewels, and protection stones of all manners hang from the ceiling, warding off potential bad luck. This did not stop the room being illuminated in an eerie bottle green, as though a picture had been taken with a filter set to lie to decay and rot here for a long time. Whoever inhabited this hovel is attracting all the evil spirits, and may not be repelling them as intended.

 

“You ask me why?” It was rare that Yury came to this far down in the basement, where Sasha dwelled. Not just for his sake alone, but to protect everyone else from harmful exposure to him. The various doctors, back alleyway crooked and Ivy League certified, had declared. Sasha had the paperwork a mile long to prove it, filed in hard copy in a cabinet in the deep recesses of the room, never to be uploaded and revealed to others. He had made sure of that. Not that anyone would be able to understand it if they got their hands on the document docket.

 

Yury sighed as he leaned forward on a table, an electric light encased in a metal spiked chandelier above them as the only source of illumination in this dingy space. The screech of his rolling chair scratched against the concrete floor. They granted Sasha a lot of leeway. He did not have to attend training sessions and classes with the rest. Most matches and group sessions were conducted and coordinated via instant chat, thanks to modern technology. He’s sure most have forgotten what Sasha even looks like. Sometimes, he has to look at the burned out image that he has, from the data of all the troupe members he has on file. Difficult data that he had to document on all of them. It is hard to see the similarities, from the lack of distinct features in old-fashioned black and white, to what lies before him now.

 

“Because you lived near there.” Near the depths of columned frost, close to the edges of the end of the world. If you close your eyes, you might trip and fall out of the world. She did too, but it was difficult to find the edge in hers where fog and smoke obscured any path to infinity. “There is a school there,” she switched to her native language, since everyone in this room could understand her. “A good one, the best in the country. They study all the Russian-Sino dialects.” She held up the satelpad, pointing to the characters. “These aren’t just Cyrillic, it’s pidgin with Chinese. And you have contacts there.” She was not sure if he did, but Sasha is resilient. He would have to have known someone involved in highly advanced linguistics and data visualisation from his hometown. There isn’t much to do there except to lie about, and Sasha would not while his time away.

 

“Even if we translate, how do we know this is correct method? Some things are lost in translation. And how do we know which language to translate it to.” So many options in the lexicon.

 

“Translate it to New Standard Language,” ILena instructed. “Also to Cyrillic.” They could catch any modern slang and turn of phrase that would otherwise be overlooked in crooks and crannies they were familiar with. The base language. “And to Script.” Everyone was familiar with Script, the foundation of all computing languages. The technical tool upon which all their worlds are  built upon.

 

The rustling of papers, keys furiously tapped, hands busy rifling through data waiting to be digitised. “Bossy, aren’t you.”

 

“Give it to Pogo, she might be able to figure it out.” Dear Anna, she thought. A lovely phoenix that should not have gone into the games, too close to the volcanoes, too close to the fire. She is happy now, she told herself as she looked square into the darkness where she knew Sasha’s eyes would be. She has a good job in research in the university, someone cold, and far away from any flames.

 

“Why are we disturbing her.”

 

“Because she likes her challenge. Don’t you?” Give her a tightly wrapped confounding Gregorian knot, and she would be able to tease the secrets out of it. Because ILena knew how hard it is to chase away the thrill of competition, a gap in your life scooped out and absent when you suddenly are incapable of lifting your hands, of standing up.

 

“We’re lucky,” Sasha spoke from somewhere in the room, laying in his bleak dampness. “It might be in Sanskrit, Catalan, or another alien tongue. Old Russian, we can still decipher.”

 

“And the other one?” Yury gestured to his satelpad on the table. Talking to the darkness, putting things on the outside so that the person inside looking in would reach out. “I’m thinking Spanish, the punctuation is a give away, but we’ve got to confirm.”

 

Placing the satelpad on the table, it was engulfed in the darkness. Sounds of a cable and computing could be heard. Downloading in process. “I’ll send this over to the Institute. They should be able to translate both, but it will take few hours.”

 

“Make it 3.” They lived in a digitally connected and shrinking world, it should not take so long to transmit, translate and relay messages. They were in the same time zone, it should not take them to long to see and understand their message. Sasha should also be able to pay his contacts with some of their gold credits. Everyone liked a little gold. They have too many mineral ores to spare. He is trusting Sasha’s capabilities and networks.

 

Under the glare of light, a pale arm, hairless and mottled with green spots placed the satelpad back on the table.

 

“I give you in 2.”

 

 

 

_Orchard, Jang-won_

 

“I think it’s Moscow.”

 

“Too obvious. Where else would PMC hold the competition but in their own home turf. Nah, I think it’s going to be in obscure Eastern European nation. Slovenia. Slovakia. Somania.”

 

“Para, I know you know that it’s not going to be Somania.”

 

“Right, because that’s not in Europe. It’s in Africa.”

 

Chlo paused in the middle of pouring seeds into her gloved palm, raising her eyebrow, the bolt piercing above her brow in unamused synch. “I see someone has been brushing up on their Geography. Do us a favour; study the world map in greater detail. Hang it up on your ceiling, you might just get a better sense of direction.”

 

Listening to Chlo and Para banter, pondering about the places they would be going bolstered light chatter while they tried to figure out the puzzles behind the invitation messages. They tossed ideas around, pick apart each other’s ideas while attending to their usual schedule.

 

“I think the message could be a palimpsest,” Chlo supplied as she laid a few seeds into the ground, in a hole that they had neatly carved out the morning before. “A puzzle within a puzzle.”

 

“Say what?” Para called from his place by the wheelbarrow, shooting fertiliser into the soil. The first round would be filled by hand, their irrigation system should take care of the rest.

 

“Codes inside the words, probably numerical. Makes it harder to crack when you have two different mediums hidden to solve to get the message,” she explained.

 

“It probably is. We’ll need to get the first layer out, by translating it. ILena and Yury are probably doing it as we speak,” Para said as he wheeled the barrow back to the tree with the shovels. “While we are stuck here, farming in this bloody freezing weather. I think my bottom is going to drop off any moment.”

 

“You’re a growing boy, you need food.” Chlo threw a weed at Para, who shrieked about ruining his best crop jacket. Junie is not sure why any self-respecting person would be wearing these pieces of clothes stapled together that wanted to be jackets, but Para is an excellent acquirer of many things, including the best game applications, so there’s that. “Your fault for wearing that. Besides, we still have our regular shit to do, in the midst of all this problem-solving.”

 

Junie tugged at the weeds, aiming and slicing at the speed of light, or what he hoped was flashy, cool and swift, all at the same time. Picking at roots makes for good target practice. I’m going crazy, he thought to himself. They all were, driving themselves into madness, nerves getting to them. He planted the rows of lilies in waiting, flowers that were hardy and would come to bloom in winter. Yury would hope that they would be like that, harsh and strong against the wind. It would only bind to get colder.

 

It would be their first competition as an actual troupe, entering a professional tournament. You’re in the big leagues, gaming against some of the world’s top. This should not spook him as much, having played friendlies and encountering them on a daily basis as they went about their gaming business in Inner Universe. Maybe the thought of meeting others like him, looking face to face, actually knowing who your opponent in the real world is another living, breathing human being with their own struggles and dreams. It made it more tangible, more real. Although fighting in lagoons and fire-breathing dragons could be further away from realism as they could get.

 

Inter-team bonding is crucial to their survival in the qualification rounds. If they were able to proceed, they would get a slot in the Grand Championships. Dependence on all of his teammates, including MikMik. That led to a cheerful trail inside his head. Maybe Mikmik and him would get along, say if it meant each other’s imminent death. It was possibly, accidental suicide, if the game they both signed up to play would lead to their dignified end.

 

He had a sinking feeling that had begun to grow when Yeona-eonni had assigned him to look after MikMik simper. None of them knew what would be in store for them ahead.

“Hey, stopped eating that, you’re filching from our food supply!”

 

“I’m eating what I sow.”

 

“By the way, Para, there’s a worm on that stalk.”

_Training Room Y, Sub-Basement, Jang-won_

 

 

 

It is evening, and Michael thinks he can feel the slight dip in temperature. It is not just the chill of the night gliding in, but the late summer that beckons. Soon, it will be autumn.

 

Where the competition season starts.

 

Every step he took in preparation, he hoped was in time to the ticking hand, which moved, that threatened to slit the vein that pulsed underneath his bruised skin, burning reds and maroons. The harder his training, the more intensively he worked, a cycle he viciously chased until he felt in his heart, the adrenaline coursing in his body, is enough, to tell him he is ready.

 

He had to be filled with it to get trapped inside the spider’s nest.

 

If it was is epic to battle in matches, it was simulating movements with the game that is the ultimate thrill seeker. Breaking down barriers, imagined or otherwise, to project all actions and consequences, onto the game, that made it all seem real. Whatever they thought and acted out, would be there, immortalised in the game, for both their teammates, acquaintances, antagonists, to deal with.

 

Letting Miya strap him in the nest, he bent his head low to accommodate her short height and keeping him held tight. He would not want to get loose and let his gameplay be lost, potentially spoiling a match. Everyone else had to perform their regularly duties and attend their classes in preparation, while also tending to solving the riddles of the messages. For now, Michael could concentrate on something that he had been anticipating for some time.

 

“Relax,” she buckled him in before stepping out the box. They were in one of the training rooms, with the only other simulator in Jang-won, the main one being in the Gaming Centre. These machines were expensive, relying on rare technology that is not produced on a massive scale. Michael wondered about troupes that did not have their own personal machines in wherever they trained. He wondered for the thirteenth thousand time how Yeona-ateh managed to maintain and run Jang-won. He asked himself if there were other places like this, there had to be other troupes that trained full-time. There were thoughts that he did not voice out in this empty wide mansion, since only the corridors could hear him and they could not whisper back, only keep it to their walls. “The more tense you are, the less you will be able to focus and skate.”

 

It is Michael’s first time in this nest. He had prior training in padded rooms, and his other lessons are supposed to prepare him for this. He wanted to train in the nest sooner, but Kim Ssin, Ryu Ssim and his other teachers had said it was too early, he needed to be used to the shock of the culture. Michael is not sure if they got that particular phrase correct. Skating within a box. He had no idea why the term used is skating. Perhaps it means moving seamlessly, gliding across invisible lines, tracing transparent spirals, to reach a goal. Although how much he could do and move within a confined, narrow space, he is not sure. The movement would be akin to dancing, like the lessons with Kim Ssim, and certainly not, skating in a park, but terminology aside, as always with all the terms used in gaming.

 

“We’ll do some practice runs first.” Miya had been assigned to help him with working out in the web as she is the one most familiar with its functions. Acclimatising himself into a new space is crucial. Flexing out his arms and legs, Michael performed a series of movements, some fighting positions and then moving onto dance exercises, patterns that had been drilled into him. Miya periodically played sounds at intervals, at which Michael knew when to switch to another drill. His arms were tight, held back by the straps, and his legs ached to reach further, kick higher. He wanted to soar high and free.

 

“I’m going to turn out the simulator now,” Miya’s smooth voice passed through the speakers in the booth, the sound echoing within the little boundaries. By then, his muscles were tired, wanting to cut loose. Although he could not see, his movements are being projected onto a screen outside, onto a game, playing in virtual reality. It did not feel much difference, exercising here and within the nest.

 

Because he is always dancing in the dark.

 

Miya instructed him to move, neither giving sounds of approval nor offering any feedback. If she was monitoring every move from a minute lift of the finger and recording down her observations for further analysis, which she probably is, she did not relay this information. Everything is left unsaid, until addressed later, by a different team mate, teacher. Yeona-ateh.

 

Michael could feel the building of exhaustion, the blaze trailing from his landing leg. His right ankle that he had sprained the month before during one of the conditioning classes is also acting up, the additional stress of his movements flaring the injury. Still, he fought through it, as practice makes perfect. He could rest when he went to bed at night. He slipped up and quickly bounced back to his feet. Miya told him she would be sending small obstructions his way. “Just little pillows.” She started small, than would gradually shift to more difficult projectiles.

 

He got into ready position, arms flexed out and legs apart. All his training so far should make his mind and body be ready to skate to, and away. He could hear the strains of sounds coming from the speakers, narration telling him the story so far. Today’s scenario is a tropical rainforest. No other conditions mentioned. Getting into character is crucial; Michael could almost feel the damp humidity of the place. Walking through, the straps tug at his feet. He stayed in more or less the same position, a square of space. On screen, however, he is trekking the jungle with Miya monitoring, tracking down his moves for further analysis and evaluation.

 

He started to move with a bit more finesse, grace, like how he learnt in his dance and exercise classes. A slight turn of the foot in a symmetrical arc, the catch of his hand to the invisible beat. Lyrical movements executed well would garner more performance points. This is a game of not limited to reaching the end, but how the means to reaching said end.  He moved from side to side, avoiding the slow bursts of energy he could feel in front of him. Building confidence, he quickened his pace, skipping over bolts and jumping over holes.

 

Then, a few projectiles came towards him that he could not avoid. In a split second, he let his body go flat, trying to absorb the impact and lead to point drop. What he did not expect is the sudden blow to his left side that shocked him, as he reached to grab what had hit him. He did not expect to feel the soft clumps of feathers, feeling the edges of a pillow case. “What,” he said out loud. The fragile tissue that skirted his arms is abruptly replaced by a coarse board, sending a thousand pining needles into his body, and he fell to the ground, his chest taking in most of the force.

 

“What in the actual,” he cried out, bent doubled over.

 

“You can feel something, yes?’

 

“Yes, I can feel it. But what is it? We’re not supposed to be able to, to actually feel, like feel anything. It brushed up against my arm.” Michael reached out to touch the phantasm despite the sting, a moth drawn to the flame. “This is a game. Everything is imagined, not real.” Quoting Junie’s frequent use of colonial slang since it is appropriate, he cried out in his mind. This is bat-shit insane. How can what is out there do that to him. If he can feel it, it can do anything, anything to him.

 

For a while, Michael remained on the ground, his panting laboured as he tried to regain his senses while still strapped to what is increasingly becoming a death machine. Miya remained silent, trying to be tactful. “They say that it’s really there, you can touch it, feel it. You can feel whatever is coming to you, inside the nest. It’s what makes it different, being in a wonderland where you can feel every muscle you pull, everything that hits you.”

 

It is what sets this game apart from all other countless others that profess to bring the imagined that much closer. The imaginary becomes reality.

 

Michael is willingly trapped in sinking sand. He felt more blows raining down on him, and he curls into a foetal position to avoid being hit in pivotal areas. The walls that he knew that made the nest, enclosing him, were standing strong and still, keeping in the caged animal, him. They were moving, imposing their will, threatening to tower over him when they already were, getting on their pedestal, crowding in. Snap out of it, his mind is screaming at him. The walls are stationary, they are immobile and inorganic, they are its and are where it should be, held to the ground. He is not claustrophobic; at least he did not think so, until this.

 

“So you just fight it?” He yelled, wincing as his voice is loud, bouncing within the nest, although the volume would not matter where Miya can adjust it from her end outside. 

 

“Yes, like how you did.”

 

“Did what?” There is a torrent of hits now launching on his shelled back, and these were getting more painful, hurt brewing, than the pain is momentarily subsided and he is comforted by soft quilts lightly wrapping themselves around his body, the faint gauze of a barely touching his skin. This is rapidly followed by a staccato rhythm of more violent contact. An invisible stick beating a drum, and Michael is the cover.

 

She paused. “All of us were picked because Yeona-san has knowledge that we are able to move around or against forces.” If she is surprised, she did not let her voice convey it. “You must have shown that you have some modicum of talent to achieve this, that is why you are here. Now, you must do it again, here in this nest.”

 

“Feel it.” Like how he did, back when the wave threatened to drown him and Yeona-ateh. He wonders if it is an all-consuming fever that just had burst into bright fireworks then quietly burns, before extinguishing into wisps of dragon smoke, trails tenderly looming further from the chaotic sudden mouth. Will he be able to understand what is this abstract energy marbling the world, creating a myriad of dizzying and mind-boggling patterns that he could not see and concentrate on. There are multiple worlds he now has to live in.

 

Holding out his hand, maybe if he grabbed hold of it, he could stop it at the source. “What is it?” He could try to grab it now, before it slips from his fingers, but that would only let it slide further from his grasp. It slithered down his arms, the shadows disappearing from the ground, preparing to strike him again from somewhere out there.

 

“Concentrate.”

 

The word is applied too liberally, a blanket term for everything that he had to perform. But trying to focus in the midst of the thunder of hits, he concentrated on a small space in his inner mind. Imagine that all this was the colourful toxic noise that threatened to take away his sense of direction, like how his sight was torn from him. Sensing an arrow coming towards him from the right, he pulled all the energy he had into a narrow bullet, to break the incoming flow.

 

“Sense it around you, in the environment.”

 

Before the arrow can hit the target, he pulls the energy into a single point and pushes it away. He barely lifts a finger, feeling the slight punch of the air, like pressing against bubble wrap, popping a hole into the win d of air, and he felt the force let loose. He got back to his feet, feeling against the next obstacle.

 

An entire wall came to him, this time he pushed it away with both hands, palms wide and up. Like pushing away a partially solid partially liquid state, expunging a jelly-like substance from him. It is different from the previous shaft of air, the area he had to cover being wider. He felt part of the gel melting away, coming in between his fingers, crystals transforming into gas upon touching his skin. He can feel and respond to them, and it can also respond and react to his actions. This multi-dimensional inter-relay did nothing to soothe his fright that the walls could come crumbling on top of him.

 

Before he could feel the stickiness of the substance, it stopped. “End simulation.” A robotic voice came over the speakers.

 

Many questions he has, that he knows many have the answer but are unable to repackage it for him.

 

“Something you will have to learn.” He can feel it, this something that he cannot put into words. Even though his sense of direction and hand eye coordination is thrown off living in a world of intersecting colour and darkness, he could feel the frustration building up, deep from his gut, with each misstep he took, each fall that seemed to land harder on the ground.

 

“I can’t learn something I don’t know.”

 

“It’s different for all of us,” Miya is not trying to be glibly vague. It is just how she learned, how he will learn, and how everyone does and will have to, if they want to become great. She is not sure how she can assuage his building doubt, but she does not know if she can. Doubt is part of making your resolve stronger, she supposes. But having the determination to fight an invisible enemy is arduous. It goes against the laws of physics and the natural world, where all entities barring you are unknown. Off course, there is a lot about Michael that is unrevealed. She speculates what it would be like watching him unravel.

 

“What happens if I can’t get the hang of it?”

 

“You will. You can train now. That’s what you’re here for.” She did not tell him what happened to those who could not keep up. There were others who came before, Para had said. And they were no longer here because they were sent on their merry way when they were deemed unfit. That is probably the base level, he thought. You are expected to excel in whatever this is. Another thing he had to conceptualise and define in his own terms.

 

Michael turned his back and called for Miya to switch on the simulator again. If he could not get a straight, neat answer today, he would have to continue figuring this out, and there is no other alternative than to brace himself and fight through and past whatever is out there. Miya may have sensed his trepidation at being buried alive, as the next few simulations let him be in warm environments, touching sprinkles of light fairy dust and floating clouds. He wanted tougher simulations, but perhaps for another day.

 

Baby steps. Even though the clock is ticking.

 

At the end of the session, Miya gives him a cup of hot tea even before he can step out of the nest. He wore exhaustion like an old friend.

 

He crawls into bed for a late afternoon nap and slept a dreamless slumber that he wished preyed upon him a thousand and more nights.

 

 

 

_Conference Room, First Floor, East Wing, Jang-won_

 

 

 

“The good news is that we were able to figure out the messages,” Yury placed the satelpad back on the table. He had gathered all the troupe members back to the conference room to reveal and consolidate their findings.

 

“Now comes the hard part where we actually figure them out.”

 

“We have this translated into 3 separate languages,” Miya said as she placed her satelpad next to Yury’s and ILena’s. She had received and downloaded the information that ILena from her email. She tapped her screen. “Let us split up, work in separate groups. See which one of the translated pieces means something.”

 

“I think I’ve got it,” Para projected whatever findings he had typed onto his satelpad onto the screen. A series of numbers on a blank word document is screened for all to see. The translated Old Russian is not in fact poetry, but numbers spelt out in language form.

 

“It is all numbers.” ILena slanted her head, trying to make heads or tails at symbols that were not her strongest suit. “It is a price? Something we must used to buy?”

 

“Oh, an electronic tag?”

 

“An address code?”

 

Shaking his head at his teammates and their aborted shouts, Para rolled his eyes, the long lashes that he spent hours curling glitter. “Nice guesses. It’s coordinates.” He managed to gleam a piece of information from his classes.

 

Coordinates, off course, Michael thought. Like the most basic of games, they give you the starting point. Begin at the beginning.

 

“Take out a bloody map,” Chlo scrolled through her satelpad and drew it up to project it onto the screen. Numbers and letters on the screen were scrambling, being arranged and rearranged to fit a pattern. “If we configure latitudes and longitudes, it will lead us to this place.” The numbers were run through until a sequence came up to 51.4056° N, 30.0569° E. She then inputted the sequence into a field in a programme she had opened. This configured an image beside it, blurring, searching for a result before arriving at an answer. An off-white gradient that is marked off-limits, unable to magnify further to get a clearer picture, materialised.

 

“In the middle of big, fat nowhere?” Junie piped up.

 

“I think it’s a large mountain range. I can’t remember much more of Geography lessons, what does a concave mountain appear like in maps? Is it wavy lines circling the peak?” Para leaned closer to take a look.

 

Snorting, Junie squinted as well, scratching the back of his head, his hair curling and matting up and askew. “There’s nothing but a massive hole.”

 

“Exactly. There’s nothing.”

 

“So we’re supposed to plant ourselves into a plot of nothing.” Chlo was not making herself clear.

 

“No, it’s actual coordinates, coordinates for an area that is not on the map. At least. Officially.”

 

Junie pulled out another map, scurrying past many newer models, switching time periods, adjusting location frames, before he arrived at the one on the screen, older, marked by tea stains and sepia tones. Thick grid lines that cut up parcels of land into imaginary squares and rectangles that fit neatly into the appropriate boundaries, never colouring into the spaces over the lines.

 

“This is where we’re supposed to go to.” Red pointer in hand, it streamed a thin string,  a dot glittering in the midst of clumps of dirt and mud.

 

“Chernobyl, the site of the nuclear fall-out,” Miya informed them, reading from her satelpad. “It was a closed off area to the public when it was first under lockdown, but now there are certain areas in the outer zone that are open for visitors. Much of the restricted plains are home to transients, homeless and the like. We cannot go into the Alienated Zone. Transport to the outer rings is via bus, comes four times a day.” She looked up at their faces. “Transport within the Alienated Zone and the adjacent land is limited to on foot or motorcycles, at our own risk.”

 

“Riding around in a wasteland. An actual, barren, place.”

 

“We could get attacked by a two-headed deer! Or cement mixed rocks with cats embedded in them. Or even by big, sparkling wolves, with shiny wings. And all sorts of other weird oddities.”

 

“We have to travel and play in an area that is steeped in radioactivity? Sounds like a par-tay.”

 

Yury exhaled slowly, discretely, less they think he was making fun of them. The antics of this troupe, he swore. They should have join the circus instead. “We can make arrangements to the place itself. Probably will have to take a transfer from Moscow, or from an Eastern European country. With some small-scale tourism, there should be a bus or something we can make our way to the countryside from the Ukraine capital.”

 

“It’s sad though. All that land, that life. Turned into rubble.” Para’s eyes were turned to the map on screen, the image displaying an area that looked like an alien had invaded it in the 1900s and no one heard news of it because it was in such an obscure place.

 

Slumping down by a table against the wall, Junie held out his arms, his fingers sliding lines and scratching holes against an invisible satelpad screen. Maybe he could blot out the grey areas of the map, stark against the oak and wooden colours of the room. “Maybe it’s the work of the Phantom Massacre.”

 

“The what?” Voicing out the question that had popped into his head before realising he had verbalised it out loud, Michael is answered with a variety of snippets from different people.

 

“Ah, Mikmik, you don’t know them? One of the most infamous and notorious groups in all of Inner Universe. They’re known across all games. They’re known around the nets, a group of bandits that go around killing.”

 

“Para, let’s not go glamourising them. They’re a bunch of terrorists.”

 

“They’re an urban legend.”

 

“They are real, really!” Hypothetical collective noun, they are not here to claim their title. ILena read stories like book tales waiting to happen in the real world, even when she encountered many in her imaginary ones.

 

“Right, except nobody has ever seen this mysterious brigade.” Junie paused as he stared at the others.  “It’s as real as stories around a campfire.” If he objectified them enough, they would cease to exist.

 

“You think those aren’t true? Everything has a semblance of truth to it. It’s what makes it relatable, that we can understand it. And for your information, we game in a world where we go on quests built on epic tales.”

 

“You won’t be able to find much data on them in the formal game guides, because as reiterated, no one has actually seen them,” Para answered Michael’s question directly. “They could be anything from vicious, fire breathing purple whales to tiny little hoofed pixies. If you want anything, you can try to get something from the RuneSkate forums. There’s always someone claiming to have spotted them, terrorising someone or some place. They are a catch-all for anything that goes bad here. If you screwed up a simple excavation mission, the Phantom Massacre laid booby traps. If there are trolls blocking the entrance to a treasure site, the Phantom Massacre stationed it there. If you can’t get a decent bargain price for your livestock, the Phantom Massacre poisoned your fields.”

 

“But what do they … actually do. Be invisible?” The image of corny ghosts with circular mouths and eyes cut from white sheets came to mind. At least from what little he remembered, a blue moon ago. Actual spirits, the energies that make up the matter of the earth, bodies, places, objects. They were all around them. Even in places they could not possibly, physically, naturally inhabit. Like the nest.

 

“Steal. Maim. Kill. What else do the bad ones from the dark lands in old stories do?” Chlo grinned at him, her eyes wide at the thrill of telling a tale she did not believe. “They’re the boogeymen under your bed, or in the closet. Sometimes gamers say it to curse other gamers. You’ve definitely encountered mentions of them in your training sessions.”

 

Michael shrugged his shoulders, he probably has, along with other knowledge that he acquired and is still trying to figure out which is useful for immediate action, what could be stored for later potential use, and what is just drivel, or as Chlo would like to dispel, utter pseudo-scientific nonsense. In imagined worlds where epic quests were conducted on a daily basis, Michael is not sure what qualifies as drivel. “What, is world domination too cool for them?” Michael would have thought that would be at the top of their plans, or anyone who called themselves supervillains.

 

“It’s totally climate change, what else could ruin a place until it looks like that,” Para sighed, as he tried to zoom in on the area, revealing more tightly tucked vegetation, scrubbing crossed lines over a desolate face. “Human intervention, society creating more waste than it recycles, and all that jazz. We don’t need a bunch of phantom menaces ruining land when we already do such a splendid job ourselves. Such great people we are.”

 

Chlo patted him on the head. “Well, at least we didn’t get out of the water for anything. Yeona-eonni got it right, as usual.” She turned back to the screen. “We will have to use land-based settings for all our training sessions until competition time.”

 

“What about the other invitation?” Yury brought their attention back to important topics. It should lay completely unforgotten while embarking on this new journey.

 

“We work it out later, in the mean time, we still need to train.” Chlo switched off the projector, putting the cap back onto the light machine, packing up her satelpad. “You know, for the first actual competition that we will be in?”

 

Yury left the other invitation for when they had cleared the first qualification. If they made it out alive. He should be too dramatic, they should be alright. Who is he kidding? This was going to a potential electric shower. He could hope that he had drilled it into all of their heads about that.

 

In the meantime, they had flight and train tickets to book.

 

“Ukraine, here we come.”

 

 

 

_Room H, Jang-won_

 

 

 

_Dreams can die._

_you are very cheerful today._

_I aim to be honest._

Tugging the towel away from clumps of his head, he poked and structured little porcupine spikes of his hair. It has been a long day, of usual training, farming, other working duties that helped run Jang-won, solving invitation mysteries. Michael had his shower before turning in and playing a few rounds of dama with Kori.

 

Brushing against the titanium casing of his desktop keyboard, he felt the energy hum quietly, the feeling of metallic grain against the calluses of his middle finger. Kori can be such a cynic.

 

Switching to E3, his seed reached the other side, and he could get back another playing seed to the game.

_Do you think we can be great?_

 

Kori had moved to F9 diagonal and Michael watched two of his damas being eaten up in a row.

_what do you mean._

 

_Greater than what we are meant to do._

 

Michael moved his seed back to the board to prevent Kori’s moving to the other end. This left one seed vulnerable, which Kori happily gobbled up in his turn.

 

Pausing, he knobbed the knot forming on his wrist. Carpal tunnel syndrome can be a work hazard concerning the industry he has inadvertently fallen into.

 

_i think you can become something more than what you are. that doesn’t mean you can’t be satisfied with what you have. but if you have a dream, you should try to achieve it, with everything you got. because you never know what may come out of it._

He moved one seed up to form a strong three seed diagonal defence against Kori’s king. He was waiting for Kori to respond, but when he slid back without typing out a reply, Michael continued.

 

_everyone has got different challenges to get through. but we can try to play, because we are playing on the same board._

From behind his defence line, his seed shot out to eat two more seeds, and he had won, against the remaining three seeds Kori had left on his game. Michael smiled to himself, a small victory at the end of the day.

_Do you really think that?_

_well, we live under the same sky. somewhere out there are millions of others living their lives, trying hard, wanting to give up, and going on. we are not all alone in the world._

 

Take comfort in numbers. He had his night cap with him, taking a sip of jasmine tea.

 

_but you know, I think the hardest thing to learn is not to hurt one another. going through life, trying to do what you have to do, need to do, want to do. you meet people, you do things that will affect them._

_You will hurt them. You cannot help it sometimes._

_no, but you can try to minimise the bad. by not purposely trying to bring harm to others. everyone has their own struggles, let’s not try to make it worse._

_Kindness is a weakness._

_says you!_

He heard the chimes of the clock ringing 12 midnight. He had to turn in soon, get some rest. Talking to Kori always lightened his load, just by not talking about what they had to do each day. Although he loved that he was being stimulated both physically, mentally and academically, not discussing about his daily routine since he already did enough of it with his teachers and teammates let his mind be free for a while on a few nights.

 

_I wish I could see you._

 

_i would love to see you._

Michael smiled, when this season is over, he would meet him. Wishful thinking, considering he didn’t even know where Kori is from. Somewhere warm and sunny, he imagined. A bustling metropolis where he is tired by the daily grind of city life and played a few rounds of dama with him just to lay his worries to rest for a while. He had not even competed, and he can already feel the exhaustion that threatened to pull him under.

 

_You wouldn’t want to._

 

He frowned, his dama playmate is so cryptic.

 

_you never know until you try._

He waited a few moments, swinging his head from side to side to chase away a silent beat, his rough spikes falling slowly as his hair dried before he got a reply.

_I’m sorry I have to cut this short. I have to go now. Life is calling._

_it’s fine, i have to go to bed now. goodnight._

_Make sure you have your bolster or pillow to protect you when you sleep._

Letting out a snort, he accidentally spat out some of his tea as the robotic voice spewed out this ridiculous request. He quickly wiped the dribble from his mouth as he typed, the wet tea gleaming on the keys.

_what?_

_So that your body will be sheltered from the ghosts that come at night in your room. They go haunting, looking for unprotected beings, bringing nightmares. Just an urban legend._

_… right. Goodnight._

_Good morning._

 

Michael went offline and let his desktop sleep. He got into bed, tugging the covers, and at the last minute, he took out his bolster from the head of the bed, placing it by his side as he had his back to the wall. No one is here to observe him being superstitious. It is nice to see that Kori could be this closer where he was, probably halfway around the world. A special thread of connection that he held onto, from his old life, the last tie he had.

 

He wished his family is here. Or maybe not, they would not understand this pursuit of madness.

 

But Michael knew.

 

A dream is the heaviest thing you can wish to have.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: 
> 
> This one is a bit shorter than expected. The next chapter(s) are going to take longer to churn out as I have to write a gigantic piece altogether to get a better sense of the plot. Thank you for your patience.
> 
> Soundtrack
> 
> 1\. Run Boy Run by Woodkid  
> 2\. Stillness of the Mind by Abel Korzeniowski  
> 3\. Raven by Do As Infinity  
> 4\. Halcyon And On And On by Orbital  
> 5\. Lullaby for Cain by Sinead O’Connor


	6. Chapter 5 - The Fortress You Had To Burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One world is not enough for humans. So we made more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: There is quite a bit of sensitive material that may be offensive to some readers. TRIGGER WARNING FOR FOUL LANGUAGE AND HORROW SHOW GORE.

**The Fortress You Had To Burn**

 

 

 _Pripyat, Kiev Oblast, Ivankiv Raion, Northern Ukraine_.

 

 

 

They took a long journey to reach their destination. According to Chlo’s description, the place is as dreary as in the maps and pictures that the team had scoured and saved from the net when planning the logistics of their trip. Little gross snapshots they held in their satelpads where they would make their competition debut. It did not seem to brighten the place.

 

Once they had touched down Boryspil, they boarded a train from Kiev to a nameless border town skirting the Chernobyl Exclusion Zone. No one wanted to run a place that is led to municipal waste, so unacknowledged it will remain, collecting only the sums of curious tourists with less than light-hearted desires. A cold breakfast of bacon and sunny side up was offered at the café near the bus terminal, which they gulped down, even Chlo who declared it was the remnants of lead and nuclear waste and Para said that’s excellent! They could use some protective lining in their stomachs concerning their final destination, before they took the bus to the far outer reaches of the alienation zone.

 

“I hope we get to see Yagudin,” Junie said out loud as he swung his carry-on bag on his shoulder. They had gotten past the first round of security checks, presenting the day passes that allowed them entry into the Exclusion Zone. The competition passes would be presented to them once they had arrived at the actual site for another round of checks. They had opted to travel light, bringing only the bare essentials, change of clothes, some freeze dried food and toiletries. They were meeting their opponents beyond the protection of a screen, but they were not suicidal. “Maybe Plushenko will come and officiate the opening ceremony.”

 

“Unlikely, he’s too busy being a cryonic in Bavaria,” Para struggled to lift his three bags, not having paid attention to Yury’s instructions about packing a survival kit and instead had brought along his various sordid coats as he could not choose just one to bring. Everyone had to be prepared for any emergency, and that included the possibility of a ball being thrown in. “Besides, he’s got his shadow puppets running the entire Snow King guild on behalf. I bet you he’ll come back in 20 years, when Inner Universe has gone through a thousand and more updates, and he’ll be there, doing tornado spins and twister jumps, conquering mountains and seas that haven’t even been found.”

 

“They have a lot of time on their hands, living their lives inside this game,” Michael commented, holding onto a jubilant ILena, who is stomping down their path. Her hair is twisted into an elegant bun today with tiny braids slithering to the middle of the tuft of hair. It is miracle she is not hitting her hive in Michael’s face as she dragged him along. “Here, you can take this.” Silky cloth is pressing against his arm, smooth to caress, threads hanging loose. Worn and cared for.

 

“No, thank you.” Michael wasn’t about to take away ILena’s shawl, which is probably too small to span several rounds around his shoulders. It is small, like her, and should easily wrap around her collar.

 

“No need to be hero, Mikmik. I come from cold place, this is nothing compared to where harsh summers are like winters.” But he is not, and he needed to be as healthy and warm as possible to be in top physical and mental condition. He took the shawl from ILena before she could force it over his head, and opted to tie the ends into a neat bow for her joy.

 

“The flora and fauna here, are very different.” They expected a variety not inhabitant in the rest of the world due to the rather unusual circumstances. At least, according to the information packets that Miya had put together and sent to all of them. Mikmik could not feel them alive though. They were not dead either, his arms and legs touching the ground and feeling the air around. They were in limbo, a sinister one that crept into their heart and lungs and threatened to stone in the bones of whoever trespassed their overtaken lands. Nature had been forcefully reclaiming what is theirs.

 

“Well, this is it,” Yury proclaimed, looking around their dismal surroundings. They have done a lot worse. But this was particularly gloomy, a set from a student director’s B Horror film trying to be Avant-Garde and missing the mark entirely. Much of the roads inward were not visible or structured, plants with stray weeds growing at the side of pavement, covering up to leave a mossy blanket that hugged the straggle of skeleton trees. In the middle of the white birch canvasses were sudden branches hanging out, inviting anyone to live inside their jade forests. Sudden patches of empty fields in between, there is no rhyme or reason to nature taking back theirs, ivory and thorn growing wildly.

 

The security is stringent, clumps of people translating into orderly lines, chips passing a production line waiting to be examined and checked before they were allowed to be packed and shipped on the other side. Junie’s cameras were confiscated and placed in a safety deposit box to be collected after the end of the competition, to which he protested loudly, as he had to borne the cost of renting the deposit space himself. Yury shot him a warning look, having already pre-empted them with instructions on what could be brought and what is to be left at Jang-won. Whatever experimental photographs or critical art dissertations Junie would want to create would have to wait. For a minute, Michael wonders if his staff would be considered contraband and be taken away, but it was passed for other more ridiculous, everyday items. A large pile of objects that did not have much to complement each other, such as pieces of stringed paper, tires with the soles smooth, and what looked like a torn raincoat were taken away.

 

“The lengths people go to bring in cheat sheets.” Miya speaks softly. Michael is glad now that Yury had his cane examined every which way to make sure that there was nothing hidden. Nothing that could be easily detected and set alarm bells ringing. He had to obtain a special license, paperwork after paperwork he had diligently filled out about how he required the assistance of a walking cane for living and no, it will not open up chances to which other participants were not purveyed to.

 

Following on silent footsteps, Michael listens to the quiet murmurs of his troupe mates, and the soft grunts of many others, queuing up to have their belongings inspected. The sounds of different shoes mark each person, he thinks. He has to identify people by colours not by sight. A heavy haversack almost takes his head out, if not for Para holding onto his sleeve. The troupe holds hands as they make their way past security with their five day passports, a united front, not because they were fearful, but for a semblance of team support that they could almost convinced each other they had.

 

There was the faint outline of tents in the distance on one of the patches, which is where they were most likely supposed to gather. Yury took charge, leading them to a booth to sign up for the lodgings, which turned out to be the makeshift tents further down the field. Yeona had attend to leader duties, meeting up with other troupe leaders for formal proceedings, of which Michael is not sure but in Chlo’s words, are mostly a bunch of rot involving wining and dining with the judges. If anything Yury has also filled his head regarding the importance of investors and backers, he would have guessed that boring pleasantries is game that Yeona plays, and which she excels at.

 

“Home sweet home,” Junie said as he plopped himself onto a bunk bed. Loud heavy rock music reaching impossible decibels blast from the tent next door, sending him crumbling to the floor. Someone had managed to get loud speakers past security and had hooked them up to let everyone know his jamming playlist.

 

“Well, isn’t this pleasant. Polite neighbours.” Hefting her bag on the top bunk, Chlo slipped up, smoothly gliding to her bed.

 

“Here’s some extra coats, in case we run out or we get ours dirty.” The grounds outside are prone to be muddy and they had tight rubber boots, meting angry lines on Miya’s legs as she put them on bare. Yury placed them in neat piles by the dining table. “Unfortunately, we have no masks, so be glad that I ordered individual ones for all of you.”

 

Michael took out his inhaler from his bag and placed it under his pillow on the bed he had claimed. When he had read up on the destination they were bound for, he had immediately packed this with his towels. It is brand new, from the shipment he had ordered at Jang-won, since his old one is back in Luzon, floating at the bottom of the sea.

 

“Glad to know where the priorities of the planning organisation are,” Junie chipped in as he settled in the bunk on top of Michael. Michael did not fight for it as the bottom made it more accessible for him to get from bed to other parts of their temporary home, and Junie did not say otherwise, choosing to lay claim by placing his bag. With that settled, they could resume to being by each other’s side, without words to spare. “They really care about our safety and health. They’re happy that we signed that agreement, sealing our deaths at their hands. Just didn’t think it would be via asphyxiation.” The form that Michael had used to seal with his thumb print. An archaic mark of acknowledgement for barbaric terms and agreements.

 

Yury and Miya set to handing out their lean rations, the troupe having opted to stay in and eat then proceed to the dining hall. A whole day had already passed, spent getting from the border to settling in the exclusion zone. Chlo looked out at the small tent flap where she could peek patches of the sky in the distance, a sombre grey turning steel. They cannot rely on their sight alone to tell them the natural patterns of time.

 

~.~

 

They stood in a sort of rough square with the other troupes. It is early in the morning, far too early to be gathering to get match ups. However, they had to pair of to see who would be gaming against to. From what Michael understood however, it would not make much of a difference exactly who they would be playing against since the whole purpose was to play against said other people. They had assembled according to their troupe names. Finding his own name was easy, and so is accepting the new one that he would be part of

 

_Lark Ascending._

 

It is not too long, not too short, just right. An animal and an adjective to describe its action. It sounded grand, although Michael had never heard it. It could be an allusion to a former glorious past. The troupe will have to restore it to its faithful place. He made a mental note to find out more about it when they got back to Jang-won.

 

“We need to get good opponents,” Chlo said from the side when he had come to her about this very inane procedure. “They watch you know, the game masters. Game developers too. If you get paired up with a team that has lower levels, they’re not going to bother watching your match. There goes any hope in them being interested to invest in you.”

 

“Invest? Like what, get sponsors? You got to do commercials and stuff, be on billboards?”

 

“We’re fortunate that Yeona-eonni puts up with us,” she continued. “Other troupes, they’ve got to supplement their income. They have their day jobs to be able to practice playing, training and keep a roof over their heads. We on the other hand, get paid to game, unless you’re super lucky, like some of the others.” She looked at a group being led by a short boy with a foxy face and pointed eyes, an unkind smirk plastered on his face. “There’s this guy near us standing near us right now, no, don’t turn your head to him! Pavlovdoniumbell, we played against him. The darling of his Federation. Only god knows why, he’s not very good at the finer details. All machine, nor finesse, as Yury would say.”

 

Now that it is daylight, the team is able to take in the rest of the participants. The skies are a faded concrete, morning, afternoon and night blending together in an uneasy droll. As they had immediately gone to their tent to set up and eat their dinner the evening before, they had not been able to meet up with any other troupes. Now they were out together, a full team including Yeona, who helms the front with her black coat buttoned all the way up, the pinning shining with the light catching, hair parted neatly to cover the clean side of her face so that the other cheek might be seen. A few participants stop to point ans stare, letting _Lark Ascending_ flow in between the gaps they left like a halo of neon angels. 

 

Michael is not sure how friendly any one is, considering it is a competition with money on the line, but he is knows there is bound to be intriguing people here.

 

“I see the ShibSibs,” Junie nodded at a brother and sister duo leaning against one of the sparse trees around, camera out, recording everything in sight. “Their videos make their rounds in RuneSkate, I see those as frequent examples in game tutorials.”

 

“How come they are allowed to bring cameras? I want to bring mine in too.”

 

“Why would they want to share their expertise to everyone?”

 

“You think they don’t keep the best parts to themselves? Besides, I heard they retired and have been hired to film this for official competition tutorials. Their Federation definitely wants everything to go into their archives. Some of video production crew PMC hires edits the content and keep it for themselves.”

 

“Is that an entire group wearing _Noh_ masks?” Junie points to an entourage dressed in black garb, their robes billowing in what little wind managed to trespass the dreary landscape. Dressing up in style for this little soiree, are they?”

 

“Acts as an extra layer of security, smart of them. Why don’t we wear masks? No one wants to see your ugly mug, Junie.”

 

“There’s the Tano Twins! I would love to have their twist capabilities. Did you see their side by side step jumps? I think there’s a video simulation of it somewhere on RuneSkate.”

 

Everyone is busy sizing each other up, although this does not affect Michael on a visceral level. He is content to hear everyone’s remarks, and hopes they would be able to have good matches. A loud bullhorn sound rang through the speakers, shrill and commanding that they have to pay attention. Yeona stood up straighter, regal as always and giving her attention eve when it was not required and her patience was not needed for others who did not deserve it. A heavy-set man steps up on the front stage, wearing a coat that is clearly too small for him and he is bursting at the seams.

 

“Come one, come all,” he said in a bored tone, clearly pissed that he was assigned this lowly job. “Please line up and when I call your names, you will come to the table and draw your lots from this bag.” A tall blond lady beside him held up a red velvet sack, which presumably carried their fates for this competition.

 

“I see they didn’t care too much about the ceremonial pleasantries,” Michael heard someone beside him speak. “Not grand speeches, not that I’m complaining, they’re always a waste of space for people to air their egos. The food they served is crap though, their coffees can probably pass for tar. And there’s hardly any sponsor banners up, not many advertisers interested in this dump. A bit shabby, don’t you think.”

 

“I heard PMC’s just about to go bankrupt, officials are scrambling to line their pockets as much as they can. They hope to find a stand out troupe in this competition to bring in the viewers.”

 

“Well, we can always imagine one.”

 

These remarks would not be encouraging to those who dependant on being seen to be noticed. Michael would be worried too, but for now, he wanted to see how he fared first before he could think about impressing anyone. ILena ran to the front, having nominated herself to pick their draw, going when Yeona had given a slight tilt to her head. The troupe let her, having not much energy after their long trip to take so much as a leap forward.  She picked the rose red envelope, the colour of blood. How cruel that nobody stayed here long enough to stain the ground with it.  She would stand there to pick two envelopes, for 2 sessions. Whoever picked matching coloured envelopes would be their opponents.

 

Giving her ID card to scan the troupe name, the assistant did not waste time retrieving the data and picking the envelope from her sack to hand it to ILena without much costume theatre.

 

“It’s different all the time,” Para muttered from the side. “Some have big, grand ceremonies, with speeches from officials or anybody that is basically arsed to do this. In a way, we are fortunate not to have to sit through a lot of pretentious speeches. Especially given by people who do not play and have no freaking clue about actual game manoeuvres and attack formations.”

 

Two against two for matches. Not everyone within a troupe will be playing, he remembered listening from one of the many game tutorials. Because sometimes your opponents were invisible.

 

“Do we have any benefits and disadvantages?” Junie asked.

 

These were marked instructions given out at supposed random, upon the envelopes they had drawn. A possibility to bring three people instead of two to a match, doing an extra task in addition to the assigned one, at worst.

 

“Looks like we will be able to call on someone to join us if we need aid,” Yury held out the Escape card that ad came with the envelope. “Good thing we did not get a bad turn for our first competition. No one wants to go solo against two, or worse, a sit-out. ”

 

He is walking leisurely with the rest of teammates, as peaceful as he can, when he knocked into a body in front of him. Hearing a few shouts, he hoped he did not suddenly land in himself in the lead actor in a dramatic commotion.

 

“Noobs, great. Stay out the way, let the real gamers play.”

 

“Oh, fuck off. Too scared to go against someone smaller than you.” Chlo shouted from the right, not afraid to give her opinion when it was sometimes unwanted. The receiver may not always appreciate it, and Michael is sure that whoever is at the side did not.

 

“Using such vulgar words out of that pristine mouth. Sure, think just because you’ve got a brain and some boobs, you can waltz right in and try to play doll face here. Let someone take you in this game. That’s what you want, right sweetie?”

 

“Trash talking already, Ignako? Your manhood shrunk since last night I see.”

 

“And you’re so flat the walls are jealous.”

 

“Ouch, I think that one might have hurt me. Let me just go back to my tent, and cry into all my levels, free our dragons to your reign, let you run over our lands and minerals. Or not.” Chlo righted a girl that had been thrown into an unwitting battle over egos. She shot her a fierce look of her own, in case she decided to stand up for herself. Sometimes it is better to back down, pick battles elsewhere.

 

“Seriously, run along now. We don’t have time for your whining and entitlement here.” Chlo nodded at the girl and walked off and away from the other guy, Michael trying to play catch up with his walking staff. “Don’t worry about him, he’s all hot air. You prove your worth in the game. Get a lot of those, trying to run their mouths, puff their chests out. Think if their bodies are any bigger, they might get noticed more. Scare others away. Except this isn’t a contest of who’s looking physically stronger any more than how much you can memorise.”

 

“Does that happen often?”

 

“Let’s put it this way. You’ve got to grow a pair, or find one, because you’re going to need it. Ganging up against a woman though, I can’t take that. I can take some pussies needing to justify their lack of game with their big talk, but shoving of girls, not going to fly with me.”

 

Michael continued walking with his team, trying to feel like he is a part of something larger without floating away like a broken piece that has been glued back together with the whole at the last minute and stuck with the rest of the scenery, hoping that no one would take a second look and see the cracks. Shrugging his shoulders, he tried to firm up his body, appearing proud that he made it here and unafraid of the challengers ahead.

 

“Good luck,” a couple of boys next to him muttered. “You’re going to need it.”

 

Michael walked away with his teammates, idle threats were not much when according to Yury, you proved your worth in the game.

 

“Chlo, we don’t actually have any dragons.”

 

“Act like we do. It’s all in the game.”

 

~.~

 

In the end, Michael had gone with a simple moniker. Firefrost. Because The Boy Who Dances On Water is too long. Ice, Kori had once said, fire in midst of snow is an anomaly. Because it was so unexpected, for how can flames thrive where ice would smother it, can be beautiful. It hides everything ugly, where it packs everything to the ground, but remains deadly in its hard beauty.

 

“Pin your tags, keep them somewhere safe. I recommend stuffing it in your underwear, don’t want anyone to lose theirs,” Yury instructed.

 

The troupe kept their tags without much protest except from Para who cried out about unhygienic purposes when Chlo pointed out that they were traversing about a literal radio electric minefield. Pinning it onto their clothes, they would have to keep it on themselves at all time, for the trackers who would be detecting their every move. In this age of augmented and immersive media, there is still no more convenient way of tracking their whereabouts than tagging people, like slave cattle.

 

At night, the rest of the troupe chooses to eat at the communal dining hall while Chlo and Para stay in their tent, studying for the upcoming match. Being the first to go meant a lot of pressure, but the two are handling it well, pouring through their satelpads that held millions of electronic books, the both of them flicking their thumbs studiously as they read vociferously. It is good to have photographic memory.

 

“Fetch us some chicken!” Chlo called out, her words ringing as the flap was lowered. The dining hall is crowded, squeezing most of the participants and a few game makers who did not choose to eat in their own separate banquet room. Michael volunteered to sit at a table while the rest went to the line, gathering their buffet options.

 

“Hello.” He simply greeted the person next to him, though he did not receive a reply. It is all right, when you cannot see in front of you, you can only take a stab in the dark. Looking out for sounds that initially strike as sycophant or sibilant, depending on the tone and wavelength. Sounds are his colours, an imprint of who the speaker is upon first impression. He greeted in other directions a few more times, even though he may have looked like a blithering idiot in this miasma of faces that will are and will continue to be unfathomable to him.

 

“Привет.” It is as soft as a baby’s sigh that anyone would have not caught it, but he did, listening for the undertones in over speaking. Hanging out with ILena, or rather ILena insisting on their being conjoined at nearly every second possible informed Michael that this is an informal greeting. He took it as an invitation to continue.

 

“How are you? It is my first time here.” Trying for a friendly approach, although it is not so much trying as him being his usual courteous self.

 

“It is my first time too.” A wisp quietly speaks, trying to halt her words so that each is pronounced and annunciated carefully, savoring them. A scrunch of plastic against Styrofoam, he hopes he is not interrupting her meal.

 

“What is your name?” Tapping his fingers on the metal table, he winces at the stark clipped tone it makes and he stops. His stomach grumbles, he does not want to complain, but he hopes food will arrive soon.

 

Here, a sigh that is frustrated and cold, matter of fact. “Does it matter? We’re not going to give each other our real names.”

 

“All the more, I would like to know what you call yourself. It is at least something that you have come to accept for yourself.” That is how Michael came to terms with the name he selected. He does not want to go around calling people its. These are actual people behind their handle names, behind the avatars, no matter how many points they gain or looks they buy and trade to dress their virtual selves up.

 

“Are you a game developer?”

 

“Erm, no?”

 

“Then there is no use telling you my name? We tell secrets only to gain something of value in return. There is no value to gain when I tell you my name, unless you do have something to give me in return.”

 

“You’re right, I have nothing to give in return. But a few kind words for a little while.” It may bring her comfort.

 

“You’re a strange one, aren’t you.” The soft words twinkled, like bells he had never head, but is sure ring softly and glittering with rice lights, before the gathering of plastic utensil and the swish of robes, someone standing up and walking away, before a few of those fairy lights made their way towards his ear. “Don’t trust anyone,” the words already said, advice not waiting for a reply.

 

“Not a lot of friendly faces around here.”

 

Michael turned his head at the sound of the voice, he is sure the statement is addressed to him. “I guess not.”

 

“I’m Carzar.” The boy beside him said, welcoming conversation.

 

“I’m Mi-Firefrost. Nice to meet you.” He had to get used to those words. If he said to himself out loud many times, he could curl the characters around his tongue. He vowed to practice after dinner. Whoever he encounters here on forth would not be giving him their birth name, so it easy to lie and lie again.

 

“It’s a pleasure. You’re definitely a Pinoy boy.”

 

“What?”

 

“Someone from the islands. Can tell by your accent.” Carzar’s words conjure images of home, the burning grass, the heavy rains, calm blue seas that could turn volatile. Your first home can never leave you, it forms the bare bones of your memories.

“Yes, I am.”

 

“There’s no place like home, yeah? Especially the food. I don’t know what they’re feeding us, but it can’t possibly be from this decade.”

 

Talking in their native tongue feels like a weight of his shoulder, sliding his toes into the familiar warm sand, compared to where he is now, the beaches are gravel and granular. Blanketing himself in home, the words pour out and he and Carzar could reminiscence about two Pacific Islanders finding themselves in an event unheard of outside their shores. Their burgeoning conversation is cut short by the return of his teammates. Michael gives Carzar what he feels is a calm smile, relieved that he has managed to make small talk with someone other than his troupe mates since the time he had been scooped off to half way around the world to start training for a sport he had never heard of. He thanks Carzar, hoping that he would be able to meet the other guy throughout the competition, Junie and ILena plopping down styrofoam packets and Miya and Yury placing juice boxes.

 

Yury nearly bowls himself into a big dark skinned woman who gave him a side eye and a quick “Watch it!” before shoving him off to the side. He sidesteps the rest of her team, not before blustering a couple of formal apologies that were comedic with his arms full of styrofoam food containers. Besides the burst of small laughter amongst them for catching him in an off-guard manner, dinner went without much fanfare. In fact, Michael thought it was too quiet. No one seemed to be mingling around, chatting with other participants, and did not appear to do so. Wouldn’t be better to get a feel of the competition by actually interacting with others?

 

“Everyone is suspicious of each other,” Yury enlightens him. “It’s a competition, participants keep to themselves, even from their own troupe mates.”

 

“Isn’t that a bit counter-productive?”

 

“Well, let’s just say you lose a member to another troupe in a sudden death match. All your secrets are at risk, and in these games, secrets are the currency that can make or break a match. You can break down your opponent, make them reveal everything.” Yury looked away from him, scooping more food into his mouth. “And they will be in their rights to, spoils of war.”

 

“Can that happen? Losing a member like that.” Michael has heard of gamers dropping out of Inner Universe for lack of interest, or being subsumed under a different guild when it changes leadership, which is a polite term for when someone has conquered and defeated, expanding into new territory, taking in all the stock and with it, players from the troupes inhabiting the realm.

 

“One of the ways, yes.” He should not be surprised that this extended to competitions in real world, real time.

 

“Count your blessings.” ILena happily eats her food, as she is her usual silly self. It would take a lot to make ILena sad, she strives to be glad to the point of ridiculous, past nauseating. Everyone has their motives. “You could be talking to Pavlovdoniumbell. We come from same country, but he can be erm, how you say, out of line. Pray you don’t catch him in a bad time.”

 

Michael does not try to speak to anyone else for the rest of the night, though he smiles. A smile is a sign of peace and tranquillity, which is all most can hope for. He hopes that it would bring a bright spot in other’s lives.

 

~.~

 

The morning comes soon and as Michael sits up on his bunk, he tries to feel the little changes in temperature, the shifts in the mood of the tent. Are the dust motes settling faster, are the lights colouring his vision jewels. There is no great phenomenal change on the first day of competition, except that Michael is nervous, the butterflies in his stomach crawling into his gut.

 

“We’ll see you soon,” Michael told Chlo and Para, when they had cramped themselves in the toilets to wash up and finished a quick breakfast. He would be anxious on their behalf, but he has to put on a brave front for his comrades. They were facing an obstacle that they have never before, but that makes it exciting too, having new memories. He is not going to wish them good luck, as Chlo had once told him this archaic saying had no bearing on people who did not ascribe to the same god of fortune. Since Michael wants to be egalitarian, he decided to use a neutral phrase, hoping to convey that he did want to send them good tidings.

 

“We’ll get back in no time,” she replied confidently.  Playing in the vast outdoors when they were used to fighting virtual wars, it could not be more different.

 

She gave ILena one last pat on the head before following Para out of the room. In the meantime, the troupe will continue their training. All the troupes have their allotted practice sessions in the computer rooms and the gymnasium that have been set up and are allowed to train within their scheduled time. They also had to maintain their gameframe, so Michael settles with the rest of the group in the computer lab, a day of bloodless legs and strained wrists.

 

~.~

 

Their assembly place is inside a narrow length of what used to be shop houses. Similar blocks were built at right angles, forming a quaint square. There is nothing more bone-weary than having the visible drawn out landscape sag in is skeleton self, the green life force of nature trying to bloody back the floor. Para and Chlo entered one of the squat buildings, waved in by a Supervisor at the door. They were led along a narrow hallway, dust and mildew mixing to form a dense wretched smell, a continuing theme in this abandoned lot. The place has not been cleaned up for the competition, she cannot expect cleansing to happen for anyone that may have perished and not moved on.

 

They approached the room with a paper sign posting their match numbers, the clean sheet of A4 the only new item in this old setting. Walking in, cautiously keeping her hands to herself, she stuck close to Para, suspicious of the old ghosts that cling to the walls, never being let go. They stood in line with the other gathered participants, awaiting further instructions. No one mingled much, and there is a hushed drone of murmurs as mates talked and discussed quietly amongst themselves. The sound of a microphone tuning on, sudden and direct, called their attention to the front.

 

A man with dark hair and slight sprinkle of hair dotting his chin, not quite a villainous beard or moustache, stool before him. His steely cold eyes stared at them, a look of disdain that could almost wash of on the sundry faces before him. Chlo did not have many thoughts about the game masters, they are just here to supervise the proceedings, the execution of a pre-planned game schedule they had to efficiently stick to. He was one of the game masters she did recognise though. Was a teacher at one point, associated with a few troupes under a more experienced coach, but it looked like he worked for the PMC on the side, moonlighting as a game master. He read out from his satelpad, stern and cool, almost patronisingly slow to make sure everyone caught his last word. He stepped forward to be heard on the mic, an old model probably because this place is not capable of supporting more advanced broadcast systems.

 

No satelpads, cell phones, or other communication devices. They stood before him, bringing only themselves, as per competition protocol. They were allowed at least to wear long, tough coats and shoes, protection against their physical surroundings.

 

He looked at them, eyes cutting glass to command the attention and for a moment, Chlo thought it could be held, with such piercing blue eyes. He spoke, and Chlo pulled her concentration to the forefront. “This match is a game of questions. At each station, you will have to answer a question. You will be given two options. If you pass, you will be allowed to move forward. You are only to travel within the buildings. Going outside is strictly forbidden.” No more details spilled out his mouth.

 

Several Supervisors walked from their post at the front, carrying large clear plastic bags with velvet bags inside. They handed them out, these gauze satchels, to little items that would guide them throughout their challenge. Chlo held out what had been dropped into her arms, hand disappearing between the velveteen edges to feel a wooden clog inside, the head belonging to a small statue. Her gloves stick onto the wooden surface. She rolled it over to face her, the paint shiny and china even in the dark light.

 

“A Babushka doll.” Para leans down to take a closer introspective look. “Probably the bigger one. The first one.” He took and pried it open in half, the lid at the mouth, holding out the heart of a girl’s life in his hands. He hopes it is not a bleeding willow he holds, empty in its husk, an artefact from its original time here. “We probably have to collect the rest. If we are playing this child’s game.”

 

“How many should there be?” She takes in his knowledge of old artefacts in, his domain of expertise.

 

“Most of them house four altogether, including the main casing.” Snapping it shut, he gives it back to Chlo for safe keeping. These dolls are hardy, and can stand a bit of rough tumbling in a goodie bag.

 

“You will not be given a map or a compass, please use the knowledge and resources you have on your body to keep time. Please be back before dusk.” Having tossed them their instructions without much ado, he marched back to the game station, getting inside the tent, probably to sip on a little of the free complimentary drinks.

 

Para turned to Chlo, the corner of his mouth quirked in false amusement. “I feel like very welcomed in this game. Ring toss for options, really? What is this, kindergarten play-time?” They had no starting point, but were to wander around, in search of a station.

 

“We’re just here to play. Let’s not look for a gift horse in the mouth and complete our match.” She slung the bag over her shoulder, the drawstrings allowing the bag to cradle under one arm. “I say we head up.” Chlo made her way to the staircase that would hopefully take them to the upper floors, although they would probably have to search for several other stairs to take them to the very top. “Make our way to the bottom, cover all the floors.”

 

“Should we split up, search for the stations then call the other?”

 

“No, I think they are spread out. We don’t have any communication tool on us, no satelpad or cell phone, and the place is too big for us to practice our Morse code. We’ll be better sticking together.” It is unnerving to be without tools they use to carve a place for themselves in the game, an extension of their being when playing. But in this game, they must learn to do without, and then they can see what they bring to this with.

 

Walking further down the hall, Para agreed. “I’m glad we’re side by side. I’m secured enough in my manhood to admit that this place gives me the creeps.”

 

Manoeuvring around the cavern itself is a tough job. They have to avoid bumping into tripping over broken pieces of glass, poisoning themselves with rusty nails and falling over chalky streamed moss, splicing their head open on the stray pieces of twisted machinery. “You and me both.”

 

It did not take them long to meet the first Marker. They had happened upon it by chance, as most lucky encounters are. Para had seen a flash of white in one of the rooms and had poked his head in to investigate. He had almost screamed bloody murder, when it was not particularly frightening omen, compared to the fright thrillers he and Miya would stream in between gaming sessions.  

 

A long tendril, against the backdrop of mouldy empty jars. Or rather, the first phantom. Or headless ghost limping around the room, waiting for a scare. Chlo is not sure what is this phantasm that chooses to ghost along the surface of the ground, the long robe barely skirting the dust ivy strewn. It actually knew of the dangers of nature. Poison is, after all, natural. It stood in front of an old blackboard, when boards were still green. Chlo could see the faint chalk markings on the board, the date of 26/04/1986 on the upper right hand corner.

 

“So … we’re here.” Para looked at it again, raising his arm and leaving it hanging in the air. The customaries of greeting and speaking to a balloon head are lost on him. He did not have to wait long, before the words appeared in their minds.

 

_You have two answers!_

_Pick the right one and it will lead you out!_

_Pick the wrong one and you will just shout!_

 

“That’s not even … scary.”

 

“I don’t think it was meant to.” Simple and direct a message it may appear to be were often the more nefarious in intent. She looked at the Marker again, the cloth that they were speaking too. Without an actual face, they could not pinpoint straight on, but accomplishing so would not aid in their question and answer, so Chlo is left to ponder at the floating robe.

 

“Except for the part where it spoke to us in our minds! Did we have microchips installed in our brains when we went through inspections? I already feel violated thinking of that. Wait, do you think it can read our mind? Maybe it just read that!” If left to dwell for too long, Para can get lost in his thoughts. Chlo is chalking this up to whispering at a low decibel undetected by most humans, the notes spreading thin to reach the ear, such that the echoes are spinning in their heads before they realised anyone had said anything.

 

_“You are faced with someone whose affection you do not return. You have to either give the recipient of unrequited love a kiss or a hug. Which will you partake?”_

 

“How about neither.”

 

The cloth tilted, a sign of metaphorical askance. She supposes it can’t give her physical gestures, so this is the next best thing.

 

“Right, give us a moment to answer this, yes.” Taking her arm, Para looked at Chlo. “So, which one.”

 

“Which one – no, wait. You’re serious.”

 

“It’s a serious question, answer it.”

 

“A hug. Won’t spread his germs through osculation.”

 

“A kiss.”

 

“A kiss?!”

 

“It’s less personal that way.” Holding up his arm to wade of Chlo’s protests, “A tap to the lips, closed and fast, is less sentimental than having someone’s arms around you, holding you tight, an embrace to bring you far away, but it really isn’t. It won’t continue, and the arms would lift and the spell vanishes. You can’t take back, run back into it, and all you have left is a broken dream.”

 

Chlo looked at Para, there were times he could be ponderous, labouring from one long drawn out word to another. She did not think now would be the time for his verbose side to come out, but she would agree to his answer anyway. He could charm the skin of a snake if she did not watch out.

 

“Rightey-o then.” Turning back to the floating cloth, it spoke into her mind, and she could almost feel the glittering slithers poking through her thoughts, gently combing it carefully to keep secrets to one side and old stories to other. “ _A mouth it is, because you do not wish to stay any longer than you have to.”_ Fingers emerged from the cloth, dangling a small object within. She took the supposed object from the hands that stretched out, shivering as part of her glove brushed the skeletal hands. What is this, fear transference via osmosis? Chlo leaned forward, spying a little doll. Presuming it is theirs for the taking, Chlo picked it up, examining the dainty creature, the length slightly longer than a satelpad pointer, the wood feeling grainy in her palms. It is odd to feel a material carved as this, the work of craftsmanship she is not used to but sees, behind the glass cabinets that Para has in his room housing his previous treasures from around the world.

 

“We’ll put this right in,” Para placed the smaller doll inside the larger one that Chlo fished out her bag. “That’s our prize for now. Looks like we will have to complete the set.”

 

“That’s it?” Chlo did not understand the outcome of answering questions, when they were not sure where the other paths would lead and why.

 

“It appears to be so.” Para pulled her along out of the room. They had come to get what they were asked for, and now they had to continue on their journey until they had a full set.

 

They bid adieu to the cloak, and Chlo might have imagined, the slight wisp of the tail end lifting up in recognition, but she and Para have a match to attend to. Making their way out of the room, the slowly went down, careful as always. Getting road blocked by ruined machines and more crashed glass did not allow them to shift down as smooth as possible, having to climb over the remnants of people’s lives. If she saw a few stuffed toys, their lining sprucing up on the floor along the way, she clinically avoided directly stepping on them. She remembered what she had learned in her expeditions out with ILena, sometimes Junie when he could be bothered. They would trespass around the countryside dawdling near the border, if they dared touched the road that separated the last town with the North. There were grains that touched the ground, scrubbing the grey grass an even silver that up close looked like dead snail shells. If Chlo paid attention to her local history texts, she would think these are the bullet cases, leftover from a battle that actually took place, and not the ones she now partakes in behind the million watt shield of a screen. _Take nothing, only leave your memories_ , she recalls the unspoken oath of anyone visiting the lands where darkness had once reigned, and now are open for people to see and reminiscence about the beauty of its decaying aftermath.

 

“This used to be a school, I think.” Making small talk allowed their words to hang in the air, filling the otherwise bleak space. “Blackboards, classrooms, cafeteria food. All the makings of a hell.”

 

“You hated it, I can tell.”

 

“I’ve never been to.”

 

“What?”

 

“Homeschooled.” Para continued walking ahead, the rhythm of his rubber boots panting on the floor. He hated the idea of sticking his feet into something so uncomfortable, as he moaned about before they arrived at the game centre, but Chlo knows it is code word for peasant-like. She understands now why, if it is the only sound within this compound. They could not even hear other troupes around. She wonders how big this place is.

 

She really is beginning to think how little she knew her partner. At least, her partner in crime for most nefarious schemes i.e. pulling pranks, mostly on Junie. Such little details form the backbone of crucial stories, of the cornerstones of lives.  “Must be nice, having undivided attention from your teachers.” She hated hers. Rebelled like an ordinary teenager at having to learn and study about things that she felt would have no use or place in her life. Funny how she is now in academy of sorts, studying and learning things she never knew would be of use. Modern Languages. History. Dance Patterns.

 

“Sounds fun. I hated school. The one I went to, compulsory education up to Year 10. Stuck in a room full of other idiots who couldn’t string sentences with involving more than five words for nuts. I could feel my brain melting each day, with teachers droning on and on over math equations and dead heroes.”

 

“Math is an essential subject in what we do. We rely on physics, engineering mathematics, and quantum mechanics, to do what we do.”

 

“Yeah, but it isn’t taught to us in a way that makes it interesting, or applicable to life.”

 

She could feel his amused grin. “What did you do then? Knock all their heads?”

 

“I would bum of, stay in the computer lab all day coding.”       

 

“My kind of lady.”

 

“You like anyone that can recite the _Drake Equation_ and list out the items for auction at Sotherby’s.”

 

“The very fact that you know the existence of those makes you someone I can be with.”

 

“Thanks. You don’t smell, you don’t spray water all over the toilet floor, and you make a mean star invasion formation. I guess I can tolerate you.”

 

“I’m glad I have your approval.”

 

They let the calm drag on, having encountered a blockade of a thousand tins, cans and other metal confectionary, stacked up to form an unstable torrent that they had to pitch themselves over to reach the other side. Chlo is grateful for Yury and Kim Sseong-ssim and her other teachers for insisting on those thousand and more star jumps as she hurdled through the unfortunate stacks. Someone was in a hurry to escape an invisible smell, that still permeated the place, creeping and crawling, attaching itself onto their clothes, on the dust left behind by their foot prints.

 

“Eh, it can get lonely. Being surrounded by walls. Gets too crowded when it is just you, your computer, and several hundred thousand other things.” The science of silence stretches in time, swallowing them in here.

 

Letting the conversation die down would mean having to hear the squeak of rubber against dirty concrete. Chlo decided to concentrate on her breathing, it is important to keep pace. Counting her breaths evenly, she knew how to maintain an even speed, which coincided with her heart rate. The clock of her body will be the measure of time in a sunless place where time is not calculated and indicated naturally.

 

“Do you get the feeling time is moving slowly in here?”

 

“Messes with your mind.” Not letting them have a watch or alerting them to the time would leave the participants disoriented, without a sense of placement, and could also affect their concentration on the challenge itself. “It’s around 2, maybe 2:30. We have to keep moving, find the next station.”

 

Just as they were about to be consumed by the monotonous darkness that threatened to tongue them in, they happened upon another station. Chlo has heard of how people see the light at the end of the tunnel right before they are about to give up. She would take it, if it meant that she and Para would have something to do. Trudging into the room, Para stopped short and if it were not for her quick reflexes, Chlo might have plodded her face into his back. “Oi, move along, will you.” She moved from behind to stand by his side, only to come face to face with what had startled Para still.

 

Walking into a room where a head greets you is an alarming sight to behold. It hangs straight, a taxidermist stuffed perfection, a helium filled balloon ironed onto the wall railing. Its skin mottled with festering green moles, eyes bulging like wide saucers, a cruel smirk pasted on. They are not quite sure what to make of this except that this is the station they walked into, and they do not have much time to beg out and find another. It is not going to speak to their minds, they find out as its mouth open to reveal ghastly shocking rows of yellowing teeth, stumps rotten to the core.

 

“You are going to be ravaged. Choose your orifice of torture: oral or anal.”

 

A stunned silence followed by a “WHAT IN BLAZING HELL!” from both Clo and Para. “I am not going to assaulted by any means whatsoever, from any device, foreign or natural, unless it is of my own consent and choosing. The fuck is that kind of question?” Chlo would have continued her tirade if Para had not placed his arm around her to quieten her down.

 

“Chlo, we need to choose. All questions require an answer.”

 

Shaking her head, not at him, but at their preposterous circumstances, she can convince herself that these are just words. “Yes, like the other one was.”

 

“Yes. As it is.” He faced her then, eyes serious, the line of his mouth straightened from a hard pressed frown, the edges etching tight.

 

Trying to play it cool, because this is not actually going to happen, she said “Fine, whatever, I choose mouth.” Chlo waved her arm to add to the effect of not giving a shit.

 

The Marker in front of her opened its mouth and stuck out his tongue. “Excellent choice,” he spelt out, the long hair clumping down and falling over his head in sullen drops. A wide open, and there it is, a tiny doll inside, smaller than the first that they had collected.

 

Chlo rolled her eyes, almost backing away from the stench of his mouth. “You think you’re clever.” Then came the part where she had to extract their token. Pretend it’s a weed you have to pull, to prevent the rest of the crop from being infected, she silently chanted to herself as she reached a hand in. Seizing the doll from the mouth, the token almost slipping from her rubber clad palm, the claws immediately retracted once it had left its grasp.

 

Opening the Babushka dolls one and two, she placed the smaller miniature inside. The Russian dolls smiled at each other, changing their faces as one more is added to their colony. Chlo pushed it back in her carry-on, she does not like to watch creepy macabre dolls. “Let’s go.” They did not want to spare more time in a disgusting realm. Walking fast and away, Chlo and Para made their way to the next station.

 

Time did seem to slip pass them. Chlo is not sure that her own bodily measurements can make an adequate approximation. But if the minute changes in temperature told her, in a room with broken windows that allowed the outside air in, the day is drawing closer to evening. They continued running along the halls, taking left and right turns to make their way down. There had to be a station in the lower levels, she is sure she and Para had run through the upper floors already without seeing other stations. The bounding of their boots bound on the floor, in time with the stones that Para cast on the walls.

 

Para held up a hand to hinder Chlo around the corner. “I think they might be hidden.”

 

“Quick thinking, we don’t see very many in plain sight. In fact, I don’t think we have seen one for about close to 30 minutes now.”

 

“The game master said that Markers would be around the building.”

 

“Right.”

 

“So, there’s probably hidden rooms in here anyway. Passageways that leads to other rooms.” Knocking on the walls, he is feeling the hollowness. “We need to find a way to get inside.” We need to open secret gardens.

 

Chlo looked around them, standing on one stationary spot. If she can stand still for a moment, she might be able to hear the beats, the rhythm of the putrid soiled life that clung on straggling to survive within these outdated walls. Faded floral wallpaper, catacombs calcified, and moths having long flown away from deserted disaster. There has to be something that is out of place for them to wipe away from their minds, peel it away to reveal their hideout.

 

“There,” Para pointed to the line. They envisioned it the minute it was spotted; it was painful, like pouring turpentine on a wound. Slowly, they crack open the old shells left by creatures, a makeshift natural offspring that reclaims the concrete, now shattering onto the ground. She and Para scatter them, scratching holes that bleed blacker lines. It takes effort to open another world, and the plaster finally gives, relieves itself of its compounded weight. Inside, pieces of plaster lay in stone pillows on the ground, bits of brick and mortar stick out. A hole, where it should be whole.

 

“Looks like we found our wonderland.” Para gingerly placed a foot inside, as though testing an unspoken cement boundary. When he is not zapped by a gamma ray he smirks, he walks right in, whole body disappearing into the deep shadows, traces of dust motes sliding on his black apron-coat. “I hope we are rewarded points in the game. Like, I wouldn’t mind an extra 3 months of food level.”

 

Chlo ploughed in, hands feeling the walls. It was not pitch darkness, so there had to be a light source somewhere. Which means there is activity within this cavity. “Good work, Para. Now we need to find a station, and that would be it. It’s almost evening. For the last leaf to fall, or however it was put.”

 

They walk down a hallway that is not as dirty and dusty as the rest of the ground. There is no faded wallpaper or peeling paint, but the body reveals the innards of white plaster and steel concrete scaffolding the place. Additions to the maze that were not in the original construction, but is probably built for this competition. Chlo wondered that if the planning committee were to go through the trouble of modifying an existing structure, they might try to clean it up, give it a bit of spruce spring clean. But no one wanted to touch a contaminated path, and the sullied stench and dewy smell permeated even in the new zone. Checking each of the rooms that lined the hallway, they don’t see anything of worth, unless they counted the empty boxes that lined one of the rooms, its flaps facing them in staggered beehive combination, like an art installation in a modern museum about the desolation of human consumption. After looking into a room filled only with packing peanuts, they chanced upon the last room, the sounds of clicking humming out.

 

Para pushed open the door with his elbow, not wanting to mark even his gloves, and the room opened up to them, a table and person sitting on an armchair. They could still hear the rhythmic beats, and upon closer scrutiny, they were able to discern that it resounded from what they thought looked to be a human being, which is actually an automaton. Life-like it is, but no blood would run through its veins, staining the floor red. It wears a pinstriped suit, an eye patch covering one eye, the other, gleaming and bright and would pierce them from where they stand.

 

“Your enemy has your most beloved companion and your lover. One of them will be pushed to a cliff. You can choose to save one of them. Who will it be?” The mechanical sounds puncture each word. It could have been hooked to a computer, a voice computing robotic sounds from an intelligible message.

 

“There’s no visible wires,” Para mused as he took in the clockwork doll. It’s probably a tape relaying a message the minute it detects that someone has entered the room,” he explains. Although he cannot see any overt red blinking lights, he can hear the soft sounds, beneath the staccato cogs on cogs, drumming the well-oiled machine.

 

“Still, we need to answer. I say we go for companion.”

 

“Why not the lover? You can’t just hack of the one true love of your life.”

 

“Duh, because you can never replace your lifelong best friend.” Chlo steamrolls into her explanation. “You can connect with people depending on the timing, the context, this provides the given situation. If you are late and you’re not at the place at the right time, you might miss the crucial point where you meet someone. There isn’t a soul mate, the one person you are meant to be with for the rest of your life. You have many chances with many people. You can make it up by meeting someone else. You can meet the love of your life many times, and if one situation doesn’t pan out, of you bump into the next one. But friends. Good friends too. Good friends take a lot of effort and courage to communicate, to try to understand, to get through tough times and know, know that nothing romantic would come out of it. And that is fine and dandy, because that is all you want, all you need, and that is ok.”

 

Para shrugged his shoulders. Any of the two options could work, depending on the perspective they threaded.

 

The eye patch slides to the side, a monocle that swings low for the eye to read. Revealing what should be an eyeball, static and glazing at them, instead the socket is empty, and inside a smallest doll sits, waiting to be collected. Para retrieves the last doll from the opening and Chlo holds out the Babushka, to give the doll back its wooden home. Tracing the twitches of the gap, he opens lid after lid to fit their latest acquisition. They were still collectors after all, pining the dolls from their melancholic cages back to their uniformed one.

 

She considers it a job well done that they have completed their task, and without having to retrieve the token from a disgusting wretch for the last round. Walking out of the room, she could feel her stomach grumbling. She had counted the beats of her heart, taken the slight dip of temperature into account, although the temperature in this enclosed area could be regulated. It is nearing 6:00, the dawn of the time where ghosts come out to eat and play. They would have to make their way back to the game station in the auditorium soon.

 

They try to brisk walk back to make it with time to spare, knowing that they would have to climb on top of old paraphernalia and jump through obstacles. Routing back according to Para’s memory, they had just finished heaving and swinging themselves over a hole on the floor fallen through by loose planks when around the corner, a mountain pile of books strewn on. Blocked by a stack of books, it is a havoc library gone mad. It could be the one they worked in, that has gone awry and Yeona-eonni and Yury were not around to scold them otherwise. Pages streaming on the floor with words that have not been read in years, scrawls of instructions that did not matter anymore, books half turned to fill the ground with dull inverted commas that did not make lyrical prose.

 

A man stands ahead of them, an overlarge mask superimposed on his face. It is an eerie sight to take in, with a single shaft of light cutting onto his body, crisscrossing the loan and lean torso. A body, a person with long, flowing hair splayed on a table next to him, no, a guillotine. 18th century French Renaissance remodel, Para can tell from the new varnish on the wood furnishings that served to dress up the metal manufactured killing machine.

 

“Now, for the final question.” He could not smile, because his mouth is sewn shut, vertical lines stinging one thin lip to the other and dimpling his cheeks. From far the strings are loose, a surgeon’s knit that has not been completed before the patient got of the table to continue his killing spree. Para isn’t sure how this joker is able to talk without opening his mouth.

 

Chlo would have walked right pass the clown without pausing a moment’s hesitation if not for Para tugging her coat sleeve. “We already have all three dolls, what more do we need. Let’s bounce and get back to the game station, pronto.”

 

“There is another question you have to answer.”

 

“I don’t think so. We already have what we need.” Tugging Para’s arm, they back walked only to reach solid wall.

 

The man grinned his inanimate wolf’s smile, the stitches shining. “I insist that you continue to play.”

 

Chlo glared. “What the fuck do you want.”

 

“Why, a doll for a doll. Would you spare the life of one, for the other?” His hands, fingers that were sharpened to knives, stroke the string that holds the saw.

 

She raised her eyebrow, the hook on her brow conveying the disdain. “Neither.”

 

“Chlo!”

 

More questions that could not be simply answered. “I’m getting bored with this game. Same old, same old,” Chlo spat out. “The rules said an answer, not necessarily pick the option presented.” She slung the bag tighter in her arms, not about go give up her hoard. “I pick nothing.”

 

They could not let go of their tokens that had taken the better part of an entire afternoon to hunt after. There was not sufficient time to possibly gather all the dolls again, play happy family. They would not let a person die, it was probably another doll, mannequin. No one insane enough would voluntarily sign up to be beheaded when there were faster and less painful ways to be slain.

 

“If that is your final answer.” There is a pause after these words, as though waiting for them to pick the option it wanted, or to increase the tension they should take his choice, colour it as the safer route.

 

Para looked at Chlo, cautious, fearful, and a touch eager. He is awaiting their surprise, not sure of what are the things to come, but wanting to go down the wrong road and see where it may lead. Chlo nodded her head. There is no other option, really, almost like the answer is to keep silent.

 

“If you insist.” With a flick of his hand, his white-gloved finger let the till go. A string is severed, and the saw comes tumbling down, rapid and focused.

 

They did not have the time to scream when the axe came down, splattering blood all over the diseased floor, flickers speckling on her face.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for patiently waiting. Please give your feedback so I may know where to improve. The same level of violence might be present in other chapters, I will be putting warnings at the top.
> 
> Soundtrack
> 
> 1\. Run Boy Run by Woodkid  
> 2\. Stillness of the Mind by Abel Korzeniowski  
> 3\. Raven by Do As Infinity  
> 4\. Halcyon And On And On by Orbital  
> 5\. Lullaby for Cain by Sinead O’Connor  
> 6\. Superman’s Dead by Our Lady Peace


	7. Chapter 6 - Alice Is Underground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One world is not enough for humans. So we made more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: 
> 
> Thank you everyone for continuing to read this very long and drawn out story that was meant to be a drabble. At least I found out I am not made to write very short stories. I should try writing sentences that are meant to tell a complete story as practice for not being so long-winded.

**Alice Is Underground**

 

 

_Pripyat, Kiev Oblast, Ivankiv Raion, Northern Ukraine._

 

 

It’s not until evening comes, that Michael is jolted out of his training session. He places his headphones on the standard computer set, rubbing his overheated ears as he walks out of the computer laboratory provided in the premises with ILena, Junie and Yury. No participant is allowed to bring their own hardware, as this is supposed to be fair for all. The premises included a computer lab for practice sessions and training gym rooms. No one said anything about modifications though, and other troupes had brought hang on equipment. A young coltish girl carries a few cables, a guy in webbed shirt with a perpetual smirk on his face pushes his laptop out of the room, and a dark skinned woman is busy burying herself in wires, muttering a language that Michael guesses as of European origin, Italian or French.

 

“How was it?” Yury asks for a brief description at the dinner table. He would most likely do post-event prep after where they could hash and rehash over little details.

 

“Great,” Para said. “A couple of word puzzles, Chlo here is brilliant.”

 

“Flattery will get you everywhere.” Chlo plopped herself on the bench, giving Para a belated high-five. She and Para were starving and were desperate for any form of nourishment or nutritious substance to fill their empty stomachs. After the adrenaline wears of, they can feel the ache that their last meal of a light lunch before their match cannot quake. There were also other matters that they were desperate not to let it show on their faces to their other comrades, what they do not know won’t hurt them.

 

“What about puzzles? What kind of puzzles?” ILena wanted to know in greater detail, her legs swinging and knees knocking against the bench, almost collapsing the portable unsteady chair.

 

“Mostly riddles, really. Question and answer.” Chlo zipped in between shoving mouthfuls of drab food.

 

“Oh, just a word or two or three. The markers were very loquacious, asking us lots of questions at each station we went to. If we gave them the answer they wanted, we could advance to the next level. I think they really liked us. We had a good chat with them. Almost wouldn’t shut up and let us go, but hey,” clapping Chlo’s shoulder, “I am eternally grateful that Chlo is a stickler for punctuality and she kept time, allowing us, no, almost forcing them to let us go.”

 

“Thank you, it was my pleasure.”

 

“Really?” Everything is fine and dandy, and yet Michael could hear the catch in their voices, of something he could not put his finger down. He should not pester and force them into answering if they were not comfortable, but everyone should be prepared. Junie and him would be having their match tomorrow, only a night away. They had immersed themselves in a match that allowed their physical senses to be enthralled, having to rely on quick senses to proceed. Perhaps they were too drained from having to switch on all points open, catching all signs and clues embedded in the environment, leading to fatigue. These games, they wear you out.

 

“Of course, why wouldn’t it be. Nothing we couldn’t handle.”

 

Let the bravado slide.

 

“Seriously though. “ Swinging her fork, she put the spaghetti in the mouth, eyes squinting and tongue almost spitting back the mush that was passed as food. She tries to be more forthcoming, rambling as she gets pedantic. “It was, let’s say, a game at odds with itself.” She went on without being encouraged. “We had to go to various areas, solving riddles with only two possible answers that have already been presented to us. No satelpads, no computers, nothing to guide or help us. Each answer would take us to the next question, until we were deemed qualified to pass the round. How our answers were judged and whether they were added up and compiled to give a quantified total, or each answer was taken at face value and only the last answer mattered depending on where we were currently located, that’s a mystery.”

 

“Nominal type of questions?” Miya quipped, spooning the meat that is looking less like grey spring chicken and more like pieces of hanging innards from an animal long dead on the side of the road.

 

“Questions like, if you had to take only one animal, horse or eagle with you to accompany you for the rest of your life, which would it be,” Para supplied. “It’s also weird that the Markers at each station did not ask us for any elaboration upon giving the answer.”

 

“Maybe they just wanted to see what we answered since they already had a pre-conceived notion of the answers already. Like a standard checklist of explanations for what passes,” Junie offers.

 

“Maybe, but it was all weird, in nit.” They expected something more vigorous, instead of truth and dare.

 

“What about going to the various stations? Take a lot out of you, all that running around in a maze of old buildings.”

 

“Nothing we couldn’t handle, Yury. A lot of orienteering and coordinating between compass and map, which we were all given before the start of the match. Not to worry, with Chlo and me, we were able to get speed on the ground.” It is the luck of the draw that Chlo and Para had gotten a match that played to their strengths, but Yury knows that luck is just a matter of calculated chances from previous studied research that game developers have arranged ahead of schedule to produce the most the most anticipated content. He would check the videos that captured all the details of the match. There should be a few bootleg ones already up, or they could hack into the severs, other participants would try to record their actions. There is nothing explicit in the rules stating that they could not bring cameras into the matches, never mind that recording is strictly forbidden.

 

Yury still did not look convinced when Chlo and Para had given their explanation. There was nothing that was not done in the preliminary levels that did not eventually show up at the higher echelons of competition. Asking participants a bunch of questions just to receive seemingly inane answers was well, inane.

 

Michael smiled, “Come on, it was good effort on both of your parts. I would probably have been lost in there, with that sort of challenge.”

 

“Don’t sell yourself short, Mikmik,” Para said, although he was beaming. “You’ll do fine tomorrow. You don’t need just your eyes, you need your nose, your mouth – “

 

“And that’s pretty much it.” Stabbing her fork into the styrofoam so hard it poked holes into the other side, Chlo had made it clear she had given the main important details. She is famished and did not want to be further disturbed.

 

This heralded the time for Michael to turn back to his meal. He joined in a smaller conversation with Miya about the weather that seemed a bit colder in the evening. As they finished their meal and threw away the packaging in the rubbish bag to be placed outside their tent, he could not help feeling he is missing something important, experiences that would allow them to come together organically as a team.

 

~.~

 

“Ok, give me a report in full. Don’t skim on any details. Every little thing counts, no matter how little they may be.” Yury is prepared for an all-nighter. As unofficial leader who is not registered for any matches in this qualification round, and official grandmother nagger for this troupe, he needs to be debriefed, including and not limited to any general pleasantries and nastiness that may or may not have occurred. Yeona-eonni did not have to hear every single thing, especially the usual boring standard procedures. He would the mouth that filters done to what she needed to know.

 

“Para and I were mighty lucky. There are some serious wackos in there. Like, people who should be locked up in institutions far away from the rest of the general population.”

 

“Insanity is the attempt at playing sanity that cannot be hidden well.”

 

“Understatement of the century.” Now that they were off the high drive of adrenaline and energy rush, they can begin to process what had happened. “It was snakes on a motherfucking plane downright bizarre. I think they’re looking for a reaction. Throwing out really awkward and random questions, provoking us with something that we can’t stomach?”

 

“Perhaps they wanted to gauge your reactions, see how you respond to certain stimuli. In this match, it comes in the form of questions.”

 

“But why, it’s utterly useless. What purpose does this serve. Not to mention, this is freakin’ effed up. Just like this entire game, but that’s a whole ‘nother matter. Mostly screwed up, you get the gist.”

 

Yury looked at both of them. “The games are dangerous, and it’s not just the opponents who take it seriously. There are other people, judges, markers, game developers. Investors, who want to see you fail at your lowest, see you at your worst, so that they know who to weed out and concentrate on. If asking certain disgusting things gets a rise, their mission is accomplished.” Crossing his fingers together, he placed them on top of his satelpad. “It wouldn’t be one of their most innovative challenges, but it still meets the end goal.”

 

“So it’s basically a humiliation show.” Chlo would revaluate whether she wanted to play, but she did not want to give up, or at least be the first to be labelled so. They had to keep going, didn’t they, now that they were on the crazy train. “Well,” she shrugged her shoulders, her lip curling from the empty hole which usually carried her piercing. “Nothing I can’t handle. Just think of it as more assholes who are shocked to see people who are not afraid to game in their territory. Nothing new.”

 

“You’ve seen gory animation in games, and you are aware there are other grotesque content in media that society consumes. You should be able to adjust to the ones seen in real life.”

 

“Yes, but not ones featuring extreme mutilation. And right in your face! You don’t expose this shit to young people! I – “

 

“It’s ok, Chlo.” Para stood beside her, as always, calming her even with a few words that did not agree with her. He turned to her without looking at Yury, his next few sentences injecting joviality. “It’s shocking to see something up close, but it’s not real. It was just a mannequin. They can’t saw actual people. That would be violating several human rights codes.” At least he thought not. He returned to the focus at hand.  “It also did not involve any computers what so ever,” Para went on. “Unless you count the computing devices used to facilitate the environment itself, but we didn’t do any actual eh, cyber gaming.”

 

“You’re supposed to have used the skills that you learnt in gaming and apply it to play,” Yury glanced up at them. “You know it’s not rare that this happens, in fact its what the qualification rounds are for: testing out your capabilities and see how this extends to the physical world, the actual circumstances.”

 

“It’s just, silly, isn’t it. They make us play but not game.” Para and Yury both knew the difference. “And they definitely record us, as they film everything that goes on within the competition area and timeframe, it’s in the agreement that we signed regarding informed consent, etcetera etcetera.”

 

“What’s your point, Para?” Yury said, his impatience colouring his tone, betraying his exhaustion. It has been a long day, monitoring part of the troupe training, receiving updates from Supervisors about the challenge Para and Chlo were engaged in, running said updates with Yeona as she handled official matters with PMC board members present and generally running the tight ship that is any troupe.

 

“Nothing. That whatever they are filming, it’s nothing. It’s not gaming. Which is what we primarily are trained for and supposed to do.” Para held his gaze, searching for something, his head tilted in slight assent as he had found what he was looking for and had confirmed his theories.

 

Yury looked at them again for a long while, as though holding onto his gaze would grow ice. “Alright,” he sighed as he placed the metal cover on top of his satelpad, having gotten his report. “The two of you should turn in early,” he reminded them gently as he stood up. “You’ve earned it.”

 

Para turned his back and headed out, not before Chlo gave one last sentiment. “It wasn’t real.”

 

Yury blinked. “What wasn’t real?”

 

“The doll. The mannequin that they had in one of the game stations. Sitting on this old-fashioned guillotine. When we didn’t answer, the Marker let the saw come down, off goes a head. One of those _Punch and Judy_ shows, very tragicomic, we didn’t save her in time, so there she goes, because we rather keep the other dolls, fake like her.” Letting out a soft giggle, Chlo leans her head back, the long ends o of her one side of her hair falling over one eye. “It’s a competition, after all. When push comes to shove, we rather save our own hide. Maybe’s that’s the bonus question.” She turned her head to face Para, the shaved side facing Yury. “I guess we failed.”

 

Yury could only continue to look her, not deigning to give an answer. Although it seemed obvious, it was not to Chlo. They took this as a sign to leave, even though Chlo still felt her questions were not answered. She had been asked so much of her today and she didn’t get a lot in return. That is life, but it didn’t mean she had to be alright with it, especially from someone she is supposed to trust.  As Chlo turned to walk out, letting the tent flap fall back, she heard a soft ‘sweet dreams’ that she is not sure will comfort her today.

 

Games are not the same when there is no pause button to stop at a part that is too frightening, too scary, too real.

 

Especially when she can still smell the iron tang and taste the bitter copper of blood.

 

**~.~**

 

It is Junie and Michael’s turn to take the gauntlet, make a fool of themselves away from the eyes of their troupe. At least until videos have been leaked and uploaded unto RuneSkate, their actions immortalised and clear in High Definition on the official IGA streaming channels.

 

They left the rest of the troupe mates in the tent, who were probably going to make their way to the computer lab to catch up on their training in Inner Universe. Even in the midst of the competition, they had to maintain their placement and standing. Life doesn’t stop after you press the pause button and eject yourself from the game, Michael supposes. There were some games that you played that were like life. He is playing many games of life that he is beginning to feel the blurring of the lines, isn’t quite sure when he wakes up, which world he is in, which shoes should he put on.

 

He and Junie walked to their game station, rather Junie stomps ahead and Michael plays catch up with his walking cane, bouncing in time to Junie’s footsteps. Junie carries their small carrier, the only bag allowed in the competition, which holds match related tools. This being the Escape card that ILena had drawn during their match ceremony. Since this is the last session they had, Yury had given it to them to use as a back up, although he did warn them that using this gift might lead to pint deduction in their technical execution score. Little rules that did nothing but serve to put players at a disadvantage.

 

Michael did not seem to agree with Yury’s assessment on who should be paired with who for the challenges, but Michael did not want to argue against the decisions, because he knew he, and all of them, would learn best when working with someone they were not the most comfortable with in foreign environments that were most likely designed to impede their course. Junie does understand the rationale, but it did not mean he had to like it.

 

A red flag, a crimson stain in the otherwise gray scale skies hangs limp in the air, victory that has not set the sun. They walk to the game station, the flag post in front of what could have been an imposing classical structure, marble columns and white canopy windows, but with the ivy that has turned to moss, limestone claiming their triangled massacre unto the walls, there is not much morning elegance to the façade. A lone bronze statue that has become gangrene stands alone, the last podium of an era it did not see be gone.

 

Junie and Michael stand side by side, along with the rest. Everyone is an island by themselves. They are surrounded by other islands. An older man with a shock of blond hair peppering his forehead and big built, muscles ringing his arms as he looked around them, counting the participants gathered. He did not need a satelpad to take stock of everyone that is present. Nodding, he decided that all are accounted for and began to read out the instructions as supervisors began to hold out plastic bags to hand out to the troupes.

 

When Junie receives one of the bags, he empties the contents of the plastic wrap onto his hand, and out came two pairs of rubber gloves. Junie passed Michael a pair, hoping that these were industrial grade. The bare minimum protection.

 

“Your job is simple. You have to retrieve an item that is gold in colour,” he explained. “And your time started the moment I started explaining the rules, so tick tock, you don’t have much time.”

 

Just like that, the match had started. Michael moved forward, instinctively going as soon as he heard the end of the game master’s instructions. Even though the goal for this match is already against him, a win that relies on one’s sense of sight, being able to source for a specific visible and overt object.

 

Junie held Michael’s hand, a frown crumpling his face, as though what he was about to say took immense effort. “The ground is a haven for radioactivity, it seeps onto the soil. It won’t be safe to walk on it constantly, even with these rubber boots. We need to find an alternative means.” It is also perilous to feel the toxic air around them, chemically manufactured for their goodness.

 

Michael frowned likewise, as this is a problem. “Well, we could scale the walls … “

 

Before Michael could complete his sentence, he felt Junie tug his boot, and his arms as well. “Come on,” he muttered to him as Michael felt an extra pair of arms go to his boots, and almost loses his balance when a pair of wheels spring out from the bottom.

 

He is eternally grateful that Yury decided shoe modifications are necessary to apply a permit for and lug to the competition event. His arms go around Junie, not without him grunting in assent before he skids the heels of his boots and zooms off, pulling Michael like a train carriage behind him.

 

“Yo, Mikmik, good luck.” A voice states from his right side.

 

“Hello Carzar. Good luck.” He shouts out as the still air moves around him, offering his sentiments to someone that did not oppose to it.

 

“You too. Shouldn’t be too hard, nosing around in this arena.”

 

Michael grinned at him. “Use the senses you were given?” He would be relying on the less common ones.

 

“Hah, you can’t take it away from you. It’s in your blood. Feel the environment for the air, the atmosphere, the mood.”

 

Mentions of his island home should unmoor him, but he has been away for so long, he has not thought much about it, or had much time to ponder about it. Sometimes, it is better than to explain to his family what he is doing and sometimes, he feels relieved he does not have to account for his actions and is left to explore other avenues. In this case, it is better that he does not send regular updates to his family less they be worried sick for him, and they have enough to be anxious about.

 

“This is my troupe mate, Junie.” Junie proceeded to ignore Michael’s introduction as he continued to run, tapping his wheeled heels along the path. Junie could stand to be a bit more polite, if he was not in the middle of playing a game here. Michael could only give what he hoped was a sorry smile to Carzar, holding onto Junie as they skidded across a few bigger potholes. He is not sure if Junie did this on purpose, but he would not put it pass him. After all, Michael only had to come in one piece at the end of their journey, it did not really matter if he was half-conscious at the end of the leg.

 

His silence is carried over as he gabs Mikmik’s arms tighter around him. The boots that they had don on this morning has included a pair of rollers, sturdy enough to blade on the rough, uneven floor. It was Para’s idea to come equip with rollers for easier and faster mobility. While Michael had a great sense of balance, honed in with his dance lessons, he required Junie to take the reins and lead the way. Stumbling on a few strays holes, Michael and Junie take time trying to balance with each other. They hope that the other will not land them into any potholes.

 

Before they turned a sharp corner, he could hear Junie fiercely say, “Don’t talk to others. You can’t trust anyone.”

 

“Won’t it be good to make some allies so that we can get info-“

 

“No one’s here for itty bitty games. Don’t talk to anyone, just keep on the lookout for any clues, anything strange in the environment. You’re supposed to be a tracker, do your job.”

 

Michael may have pouted at being chided like a little child, but part of him knew that Junie was partially correct. He and Yury both shared this viewpoint, and it seemed like most of the participants did so. He did depend on talking as a form of communication since he couldn’t exactly scout their surroundings via sight though. He held on tight as they zoomed forth.

 

“This is getting ridiculous.” Junie supplied after a few silent minutes that seemed to stretch into blundering hours. The footfalls of the rest of the participants echoed back around them. It seemed like most had gotten the important gist that it would not do to go by foot as it was steeped in radioactivity and other suspicious poisonous toxins, so they found ways to circumvent it. Junie spied a small hot air balloon in a corner, a pair clinging onto the walls with seer-sucker pads. He’s pretty sure they are the Tano Twins, and he catches a flash of muscular dark skin from the corner of his eye before it is gone, on their own mission.

 

They had not met up with anyone in the time they had been released inside the buildings. While yesterday’s markers appeared popping out like jack-in-the-boxes, there is no one to surprise them here. He is not sure if the absence of the tormentors is a good or bad thing.

 

Michael drops his head, almost leaning against Junie’s back, carefully not to twist his mask off. He and Junie had not taken any chances and had don the masks provided by Yury as soon as they made their way to the battle arena. It was good thinking on their part, as their challenge mostly involved the outdoor areas. As he slowly lifts his head up, not wanting to smack on Junie and irritate him any further, he looks ahead to see –

 

The ferries wheel looming above, a concrete splinter that would fall soon, a rusty Christmas tree on the uneven broken ground. It crooks, attempting a majestic beckoning, but leans tired on one side, coming home to its rotting roots. The chrome painting peels, the individual cabins tilt, from the empty hollows it houses, poison riding to the top.

 

“What the – “

 

A few moths jump flit from the corner, running out. It almost looked serene in its surrealism, living creatures left undefiled flying strong and defiant in the wide empty spaces, black paint spots against the purple plum clouds, heavy with rain at a moment’s notice.

 

For a minute, Michael almost saw –

 

And then the landscape zooms from electric sharp to muted, the paint fading out after years of abuse and dying in the sun.

 

“Mikmik, come on, we need to get out of here. Don’t dawdle about.”

 

He didn’t think his eyes were not fooling him for a moment. He could not rely on his natural sense, when it was so fond of playing tricks, joking with his mind. Just flashes of what he used to remember, he thinks. It’s impossible, he remembers. The countless doctors, the one in the city that his mother had saved up months of the farming money for. He would never regain his sight, the optical nerves were damaged beyond repair, the retina cones are fried to death and would be reactivated, it is not like a skin graft that you can cultivate, replace and grow over. For a while, he could see. It also does not explain why he should see a landscape that he is a perfect stranger to.

 

But now, he needed to bring his focus back to their challenge, wrapped in this darkness. They couldn’t locate literal treasure. For a bunch of trackers with heightened senses, they failed at what their main job. Junie thought they might as well go out back and hang themselves.

 

“Gold is not a natural colour.” Junie would know this where Michael saw colours that could not possibly exist. But the ferris wheel, Michael tries to open his big as though to recapture an image he had lost, it looked yellow, it is hard to tell in a split second when his vision is suddenly brightened by the golden spotlight from beyond, before it is sucked back into wet silky shadows. “So we shouldn’t be seeing much of it, wherever it is.” Not like you would be of much help, Junie duly noted.

 

“So, no man-made goods.” All stuff that has been left behind, essentials and keepsakes alike that have been forgotten, left to abandoned, when people were running, fleeing a plague that they could not see and fear would catch them anyway, to wherever they now called home, infected the generations to come down the line. A curse that should have calcified here and left to be entombed, only the decay had become airborne, taking root across the world to where they could escape to. “We’ll have to look at naturally occurring substances then. Minerals? Plants, herbs? Did they specify what particular erm, shade of gold?”

 

“As I said before, gold does not exist in nature, it is a composite of many different colours. It has no scientific range and classification, like red or blue. So, I guess anything that fits that description.” This would narrow down the field as they were not left with many options.

 

“Going by what you said, we’ll have to make it, won’t we? We can make our own colour,” Michael said. “We will have to search for items that can be easily mashed up, stains or bleeds colour out, then we combine it with other colours to get gold.”

 

It was not a bad idea and Junie had to concede to Michael that it was a creative solution. “Right then,” he said. It would not hurt to try, they had been skating around for at least an hour, they might as well. “I will pick the items, and you do the erm, mashing.”

 

Michael sits in a corner near a run-down building while Junie walks around, picking various items in the near vicinity that would be able to leak colour. He could work with the items that Junie gathered, mostly the few plants that strangled the cracks on the sidewalk, a few pieces of glass and old melted plastic. Relying on Junie to state which item is what, he makes quick note to separate the objects and mash the colours out into a small warped basin Junie had found. The little liquid that bled out he pressed on the basin, adding liquid moisture to dilute and make a discernible substance. They were lucky that mostly stalks gathered had liquid dripping inside. The rules did not specify a minimum amount that they required, which is fortunate as it took a long time to manually produce what they could get.

 

Junie and him silently work together, smashing their objects and gathering the sap or liquid that leaked and seeped out, combing it with other crude substances. Michael is careful to ask Junie what each object is, less he goes on to inadvertently create a small explosives starter. Carefully pinching the gloves to his shirt to make it sure it does not fall off hallway during his activity, Junie is in charge of getting random objects around the room that could be dismantled to make their desired substance, and Michael is in charge of combining and making their potion. He should have his pointed hat and broomstick and then he could become a witch, although Chlo would tell him he was being sexist, as witches could be dressed in any fashion and manner. Encountering the many different ones in Inner Universe, he should know this. Working in tandem, Junie and Michael are able to work in silence, letting the stilted air communicate their tension. Michael wonders if he should start a conversation, the only sounds they heard were those of Junie sifting through objects and Michael working on the mixture. Maybe he could spring up about his sudden flashes of vision. However, it is not the time for idle chitchat, especially something that he could not make heads or tails about now.

 

“I think that’s about it.” The resulting mixture is something that is not quite gold, but gold would appear different to everyone, depending on which way it is seen. Michael trusts Junie, he has to, he is the one that can actually see. Whether he would be fair and impartial in his judgement is another matter entirely. Pushing his mixture next to Michael’s bowl, he took the straw that he had fashioned from plastic tubing and sequestered it into his bowl, the rib in the middle acting as a tourniquet to suture out the gold coloured clumps. Pouring the mixture into a small cardboard cut-out that served as a funnel, it is kept in a small glass bottle they had scavenged from an empty cafeteria. The remnants of civilisation can be put to good use.

 

They are about to make their way back to their checkpoint when Junie encounters an obstacle in their course. A giant hole in the ground. Make that a crown on a ground, a black hole that suddenly appeared on what was once concrete. Junie is sure that it was not here when they first crossed the ground, but the place is steeped in radioactivity, perhaps it could not handle the stress of people trampling and the soft rock ad slowly cave inwards into its hollow. They would have to be mighty careful.

 

“What is it?” Michael asks when Junie has stopped, pulling Michael to a standstill.

 

“It’s a hole, a rather large one.”

 

“Can we circle around it?”

 

Taking a paper bag and a stick, Junie threw both objects into the gaping hole, straining his ear to hear the sound of two projectiles falling and hitting some sort of ground. There is no echo to greet him, and whatever lies below may not be solid, and may not even exist. It is worse than a drop in the ocean, because if you can listen to a tree being felled and falling in the forest, it exists. This is a pool of endless possibilities. A swarm that neither of them is ready to wade in, they have not been taught how to swim. Drowning in what lies beneath, that is an outcome that the game makers would adore. It makes for good video, but they are not going to do that today.

 

There is not a lot of space occupied by a black hole. It is not scientifically known how much space a black hole has inside and can accommodate. Michael is not sure it is even possible to know this, much less a black hole exist here on Earth. If he thinks about it, the best place for it to exist would be here of course. Where no one can see it forming, little spots that accumulates and eventually transform into this deep, derogatory mess.

 

“You think I’m not trying,” Grumbling, Junie groused in front of him. They have skirted the perimeter of the large abyss, and there seems to be no discerning solution in which they can safely make their way across. It is a veritable black hole of darkness. Crossing it would not be wise, as even in pretend dimensions, they knew he principles of the black hole. Nothing has come out of it, and if it has, it has yet to communicate its success.

 

“We can try to … jump?”

 

Junie walked backwards to where Michael stands a few feet away from their current predicament. His teammate has not been following the conversation. Or he was spatially inept, he cannot decide which. “We already ruled that path out long ago. Unless you wish to go the route of that paper bag.” When Michael did not reply, Junie turned back, grabbing hold of the wall, is rubber gloves squelching horrid noises as he tried to find strongholds within ant specks. “Thought so. Now, unless you have a better idea, we need to try to walk around of this stinkin’ cesspit.”

 

“We could take of our skates, so that we don’t slide down when we attempt to walk around the edge. Look, we need to – “

 

“Don’t tell me what to do, you of all people – “

 

In his haste to get away from the hole, and from the awkward situation, Junie had walked backwards, waving his arms wildly. Down he goes, scraping past the rabbit hole, holding onto the leftover scrub at the edge. It is quiet for a moment, the fall, the rocks that he takes with him, feet dangling, trying to scramble for a foothold against the shanty wall.

 

Michael yells, dropping to his knees, hands reaching out for Junie’s. He grabbed onto an arm, but at Junie’s loud groan, he caught hold of it, not afraid of Junie’s loud protests, his personal boundaries, his general disagreeable manner. It is only when both of his arms takes Junie’s that he felt along the unnatural angle it was lying, and Junie’s accompanying screams were not directed at the repulsion he felt for his troupe mate. The loud groan and a sickening thud, Michael thought. The sounds of him trying to hold on to the ground hid the sound of a bone shattering. His arm, scraped and bruised, the glove torn, his raw flesh contacting the radioactive ground.

 

The sound of footsteps rounding a corner stirred them from their heated conversation.

 

“Hello, who’s there?” A familiar voice rings out.

 

“Carzar, you’re here.”

 

This is the opposite of what happened once when he was unable to get the dance properly. When you cannot perform, you are a burden to others. Not that the other is too heavy of a nuisance, things happen, the world is not a perfect place.  “You’ll be fine, Junie,” Michael quietly urged him to hold his own body together so that he may safely get the both of them out of this room. He lifted his head up and shouted. “Junie’s arm, the energy is being depleted from his body. I have to carry him out of here.”

 

“You can pass it to me.”

 

Michael is having trouble just managing to lug around Junie, who cannot keep his cries mum. Something wet slicks on his shoulder and he realises Junie’s rears are staining his sleeve. He had to get help for him and soon, if Junie cannot hide his pain and fear from him. He would have to let go of something to grab hold of Junie’s entire body. “Just give me a second,” he slings the plastic bag from his shoulder and pulls it above head, placing it on the opening of the hole.

 

The minute he places it on the ground above does he realise that no hand is offering to lift him up.

 

“Right Carzar, pass it to me.”

 

The silence that ticks lasts like a second hand piercing a bruise, and watching the blood bloom and trickle out of the thin lined crack.

 

“Carzar? You still there?”

 

He hears the scuffle of a bag being zipped open and rifled through.

 

“What are you doing?” Even though Michael said these words, he knew in is sinking heart what most probably is happening.

 

“What I’ve always planned to do.”

 

“Carzar?”

 

“Fuck, pass the bottle to us, right about fucking now.” Junie shouted right beside Michael’s ear, his head in the corner of neck as he gasped, holding his left arm as far away from their bodies as possible.

 

“You think you’re wonder boy from nowhere just because you got yourself in a troupe? Don’t think so highly of yourself, they will take anyone,” Carzar grinned, his boyish features twisted to appear menacing. When boys try to be men without having grown into their features, it made them look and sound younger, trying to grasp the injustice of life. A life that Michael could not comprehend as he did not know his place in it.

 

To say that Michael had no idea what he is talking about is the understatement of the day. “I don’t understand Carzar. I don’t know you, I don’t know what I did to you, and this isn’t the time and place for this conversation. You need to let us out of here right now.” He held onto Junie, not risking them plunging down who knows how long into their dark grave.

 

“Shut up, you know what you did. If you don’t, go ask Yeona.”

 

“I really have no idea what you’re talking about, but if you do not give me that bottle – “

 

He could not see, so he could not react to Carzar’s violent shove, leaving him tumbling down, grabbing onto the rock, which he luckily crossed and hid into a cove. He is able to keep one hand wrapped around Junie’s body, the other hanging onto a shredded piece of shrapnel. His gloves are still intact, though the rubber against smashed plaster is slippery, sliding onto the soiled granite surface.

 

“You’ll what? Stupid little Mikey, always so trusting. They should have left you there, be a village idiot.” He waved his arms about, the elusive bottle in hand, enjoying his little pursuit of no effort and much action required, where Michael cannot see it. “You know what, at first I thought they might have replaced me with someone impressive, but then I saw you in the hall and I just laughed. They cut me loose for someone who can’t even see the front of his own nose. Man, are their standards low.” Carzar’s fingers peel Michael’s fingers off, one by one, but Michael clings steadfast to the composite layers of mud, softened soil and clay. He moved inside, clutching a twitching Junie who is breathing fire into his ear.

 

“Everyone feels sorry for you because you can’t see, you know that. I bet no they feel resentful, having to pity you because you’re so obviously stupid. They can’t help but have to, even if they don’t want to. I bet you became blind on purpose, just so that you can get people to give you a handout for the rest of your life.” He had move on to picking apart his fingers with a stray piece of metal, screwing out each finger like a stubborn nail. If he lobbed his body, curving inwards and bringing Junie close to him, he can dodge Carzar’s whacks, however, it still left his grip vulnerable, which was the only tie to above ground.

 

“You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.” Carzar is crossing a line Michael never knew existed. He could barely keep his end of the dialogue, prioritising holding onto Junie and shoving them as furthest as they could from the mad boy above them. He felt his back darkening and he turned to feel Junie, careful not to grab too tightly He grasp a wet arm. The sharp scent of iron hit the air, this did not bode well for their current predicament.

 

“And now it’s even worst, because someone actually bought your story, let you in to play, when you can’t really.” He can feel him move closer, his words in his ear. “Tell me Mikmik, how does it feel to be completely worthless. Left to rot like a piece of useless trash.”

 

He really wished Carzar would stop projecting selves of fantastical proportions onto him. “Carzar, look, I don’t know what you’ve been through, but please. At least don’t let Junie be hurt over this. Let him get out.” His long limbs could only hold onto Junie and the grainy vine for so long before it gave way.

 

He whispered slow, attempting to lush his syllables into a cunning parting remark. This is what would kill Michael, pack him down so deep with his own failure. Not his body, not his limited natural talents. His crushing consciousness. “It’s all your fault he is the way he is. If you could be more useful. Heh, that would mean being anyone, but who you are.”

 

“They let a lamb into the lion’s den.”

 

Figuring that he had gotten what he needed and tortured his companions long enough, he ran off, with their token in hand. It is only when Michael can no longer hear running steps that he starts tying the vine onto Junie and hooking it to his waist. He lobs his whole body upwards climbing a head above and hoisting both of them, pulling Junie with him onto the above ground. He held his head down, avoiding Junie’s shoes, the roller blades scraping the side of his forehead.

 

Michael cannot stress how much he didn’t understand, he doesn’t know what Carzar is talking about, he couldn’t see what is happening, he couldn’t see goddamnit. But what he did know is that he’s got an injured team mate crouching beside him, who pride be damned, needed immediate medical attention, or lose his vital limbs. That, Michael understood, the sheer panic, the thoughts that left one paralysed before the actual dismembering of everyday organ from the main body.

 

Michael would have gone out to him, sight or not, but Junie yelled from his side, clutching his arm, or what look quickly to be the remnants of his arm if they did not get out of the way fast. Carzar gave them one last smirk before sprinting away. A huge gap now prevented Junie and Michael from reaching the door. They needed to find a solution fast, with Junie’s arm melting away, and the possible threat of contamination looming below them.

 

“Junie, I need your bag. We’re going to use the Escape card.”

 

“What?” Junie screamed in half agony and half anger. “Don’t use it!”

 

“It was saved to be used for emergencies, and right now, this is an emergency!” Michael is not going to let Junie die on him, moreover this was the last round so they could use the card.

 

“Don’t, we’ll lose points for technical execution!”

 

“Right, and your life is worth more.” Losing a few points for taking Advantage is worth the risk, especially when it was a goodie handed to them. Feeling Junie’s side, Michael takes out the Escape card from Junie’s coat pocket, not bearing to hear the rest of the cursed accusations that could make even the most sea-hardened sailors blush streaming out of Junie’s mouth. Come hell or high water, Michael is calling out reinforcements.

 

Hastily slotting in the Escape card into the accompanying card reader, he heard a couple of beeps, before nothing. Michael is not sure what is supposed to happen, but he hopes that the card is not jammed, or worst, the reader is broken. He shakes it, lightly taps the reader, in the faint hope as most frustrated people are prone to do, that would actually cause the card to become jam and he paused. The ragged breaths he hears, he realises, are from him, and not from Junie. In the meantime, he still had Junie to take care of, who from the wetness seeping into his chest, is losing a pint of bloody by the minute. Michael shrugged of his coat, not attempting to tear through their industrial strength issued coats, and instead bundled up the sleeves, pressing it against Junie’s wound. He is not sure how long he sits there, trying to stem the blood flow, keeping his ears alert as they were out in the open and are easy prey for other competitors to pick on them. Not that they had much leverage, whatever they had of value is already stolen.

 

“I am here,” a voice calls out, leading Michael to jump in half fright, dropping the card reader but fortunately, not Junie. He comes, as he does when he is summoned for directly.

 

“Great, they sent you.” Junie’s disparaging remarks are cut off when he doubles over, violently coughing into the mud gods below. Michael takes this as a good sign, if Junie can still lace his comments with caustic sarcasm, he should still have the energy and will to make it to the medical station.

 

If Sasha had heard Junie’s dissent, he did not appear to take it to heart. The head nodded, making him appear to be a wise sage come to rescue them, and to Michael, Sasha is a stab in the dark, because if they could betrayed for peanuts by a random stranger in the competition, there is no saying what others in his troupe, people he has known for less than three months, would do.

 

Beside him, Sasha grabbed onto his latch, unbuckling his end and freeing himself from the hold. He began taking of his gloves, pulling off his coat and folding it neatly to be put it in his doctor’s bag, as though preparing for a hot bath.

 

A moldy potato. A spring of hair starts on top, trailing to a light pepper of diamond sprinkles. There are no brows, singed off, only a few sparse hairs remain. His skin is shrivelled, layers onioning in molded inwards, saggy over nails, and pressed papery tight in others, holding his limbs in leather frozen over his stature. Sasha knew he wasn’t handsome in any classical definition, but he did cut a very bold figure. It is one of the few times where he could strip himself bare, and not worry about whether he would infect anyone else. One is protected, the other by the looks of his fast gangrenous arm, won’t need much protection, if they could get him help in time. Sasha is not going to think of the consequences if they didn’t, he already lives it.

 

“The hells are you doing,” Michael cried out, holding onto the wall. He is not imagining the toxic molasses gleaming in the wall, seeping onto his rubber glove clad palm.

 

Sasha could only smile, his teeth showing. “What I was made for.”

 

Before Michael could say anything to deter Sasha from doing something exponentially ludicrous, such as crawling into a pit of snakes, he scrunched up his shoulders and held his head down, body tightened like a bullet and dove down, burrowed into the radioactive underground, where he claimed he belong.

 

It was another long wait, and then, his head surfaced. Sasha emerges, smiling. A single gold tooth in can be seen. “Come on down, I’ve found the rabbit hole down.”

 

~.~

 

Slapping a bunch of papyrus bandages after cleaning the wound is not proper medical attention. Junie’s screams filled the room, shocking some of the nurses and other patients. The screen over his cot could not hide his pain, the burning flames licking his arm. It had taken little over five minutes to make their way from the hole to the Game Station to turn in their plastic bag. Michael had not cared to stick around for any formal entreaties, signing out forms and checking stamps, and rushed out, scrambling for the door as he asked belligerently for the directions to the medical station. It takes another ten minutes to go to the medical station, pushing past the stream of participants who had finished and troupes waiting at the sidelines for their teammates who had gone for the challenge.

 

“We need to go back,” taking hold of Junie’s other arm, Michael positioned him in an upright position to get him up on his feet. “Staying here isn’t doing you any good. The doctors wouldn’t even prep you with anaesthesia, I doubt there’s any proper tools here better than what Yeona has,” he said as he and ILena propped Junie against their sides. The broken bone wasn’t the serious condition that required care and examination, it is the invisible things that they do not know that eats away at his limb, toxins that left untreated will flourish into a disease. They could not have Junie being cannibalised from his own flesh tomb.

 

Without bothering to make a snappy comeback, Junie let himself once again be half-carried, out of the medic tent. Before Michael could move away from the tent flap, someone else brushed up against him. “I told you not to trust anyone,” were spoken in a soft flutter, flitting away before he could catch hold of the butterfly. Junie’s groans brought him back to the situation at hand and he stumbled forward, trying to get them on track. Fortunately, they ran into ILena, who had been sent to fetch them from the medic station. She took one look at Junie’s state and held his other side, pushing them towards their tent. They reached the opening with a lot of grunting and almost falling face splat into the grass bare plain, catching the tail end of a conversation that is brewing inside.

 

“- I don’t think anyone wanted to watch your swan dive into motherfucking poisonous ground. I know we want to get the performance components that got the judges attention all right. Like a surprise in the music box. Although next time, a little forewarning? I think I threw up a bit in my mouth.”

 

“You know how much damage that could do to your body, your internal organs?” Chlo taught she knew her teammates, at least superficially. To see Sasha nosedive like a mole to his basement hill like he naturally born to live with mutated woodland creatures that survived in a nuclear wasteland, and then a few long, drawn out moments when everyone could feel the air stiff and cold in that room, believing he must have choked to death, only for a hole to appear decimated in the ground, an opening out. Supercharged beings were normal, sentient almost in games, their armours a familiar texture.

 

Rotten stumps peek out his mouth as he opened it slightly, an attempt at a polite smile. “Cannot destroy what is already ruined.” His patronising tone matches Chlo’s incredulity, for he would know his broken body more than anyone else.

 

Here in this world, even with all their technology, there were some barriers that were not broken, and for good reason. Chlo is not sure of those reasons now.

 

An agonising scream came from the entrance of their tent. ILena’s head poked her head against the flap first, her tired eyes shining with worry and fright. The other half of her body was not visible, her shoulder dragging down. She must be carrying Junie, who was screaming bloody murder to wake up the sleeping inhabitants in the next town over. “Sorry, Junie is not good. His arm, it’s not good. There is a lot of blood, and also this yellow, coming out of his wound. Smell bad too.”

 

“Para, and Yury. Bring him here, lift him up here. Miya, give me my knapsack. Take down the hanging towels. ILena, get the cooking basin and pour some water into it, not much, just a quarter.” Yeona rattled off orders without much ado, she was prepared for any all emergencies. She tied a makeshift cloth over her clothes, handing one to Miya. “You’ll be fetching a lot of water,” she smiled kindly at ILena, advising her and Miya to tie up their hair as she secured her own hair into a tight knot on top of her head.

 

Para and Yury hoisted Junie from Michael and ILena, who were by then flaying with a dead weight, and set Junie on top of their dining table, his body shaking with every wrecked sob. Chlo bit back a sob and the bile in her throat as her eyes caught Junie’s right arm. If she did not throw up when Sasha almost gave everyone a heart attack, she might now.

 

“Chlo, go to the medic station and see if you get some of the items here,” thrusting a list of items hastily, she opened up her doctor’s bag, pulling the empty food trolley beside her.

 

“Mikmik, I’m going to need you to hold this straight and very taut. Do not pull a single way,” Yeona sternly requested as she cleansed the scissors. She grimly studied the sight in front of her, taking his pulse and massaging his fingers that had lost all feeling. Drats, his palm had hardened already, calcifying into an aborted foetus. Yellow pus seeps out of the wound, the smell of dead cells and arteries permeating the room like a foul blood left out to stain and dry. There will be a lot of rags to soil. She gripped his arm, making the quick decision to perform major operation.  


“Junie, look at me.” She only had a few moments, the boy is going delirious. Looking straight at his feverish eyes, she hopes he understands her words that they do not sound sly, plodding their way into his overheated brain. “I will be taking your arm out. There isn’t a choice, you hear me? I’ll be administering anaesthesia, so that you won’t bear the brunt of the pain, but it’s your arm that will be coming off. Up to the elbow. Do you understand?” She asks him with her eyes. Junie’s head rolls, nodding, but Yeona requires verbal consent.

 

“Junie?” Cunning and quiet, she repeats her question. Only when he gives a ragged ‘yes’ does she allow herself to take out her the saw from her instruments. She would make this quick, as she prepared the injection. Filling up the vial with morphine, she quickly rubbed alcohol onto the crease of his elbow and injected a few times, letting his veins drink the medication and go to death sleep, never to awaken again.

 

Chlo can only put on a brave face as Yeona-eonni’s right hand, putting on her apron and mask that Yeona had swiftly handed out from her medical bag. Yeona takes what could only be called a saw, testing it at the edges. Immediately a line of ruby appears, slicing over the pallid green of his veins crumbling under the weight of the sharp spindles. Slowly but steadily, Yeona moves the saw back and forth, sharpening over the mass of flesh that used to be Junie’s arm. It is the sight of the torn flesh, strings that clung onto the impediment, that makes her lose her lunch to the side, vomiting on the ground. After brushing her hair across her sweaty forehead did she belatedly realise some of her sick had fallen onto Yeona’s shoes, the drips of murky yellow dotting Yeona’s sensible buckled industrials. She wiped the side of her mouth as Yeona continued her work. She had to be strong. Yeona-eonni hardly flinched when she was cutting up Junie, when Chlo became faint all over her shoes.

 

“Now, you know,” Yeona stirred the liquid mix in the bottle, pausing to add a dash of something green and vile into the mixture, illuminated by the green bottle. The witch always had her potions and herbs about, to cure and to warn. She splashes the liquid generously over the wound, cauterising it. Time is moving even slower now, Chlo doesn’t know how long it took to even reach midpoint. Oh god, the ash white, she can see, the sticks of ivory dipped in crimson, and the stones that makes a human body. She can see Junie’s physical being, his arm hanging loose, bits of fleshy sinew clinging onto the host. It was almost off. “This is not a game for online trolls, it is a game of minds. A game of thrones.” She poured some onto Junie’s arm without prior warning and the sudden expletives that rained out his mouth did nothing to deter her quick placing of the cooling cloth before sealing it tightly with a cloth. She started to wrap the wound tightly, the bandages coiling from the roll Mikmik was holding. “People who only think their actions can’t hurt them here, they’re not going to survive.”

 

“Listen well, all of you,” her voice slightly raised as she secured the knot. The queen was speaking with enormous gravity; she was going to say something that would be important if they wanted to survive this competition, let alone the rest of the season. “Trying to grow an armour over your arms, your brain, your heart, to guard yourself from the horrors of the games, that will only lead you down the path of destruction, of failure. Have the thinnest skin you can possibly have. So that you can feel every single curse that befalls on you, every punch that punctures an organ in you, word that cuts deep into you. It is only when you open yourself to the endless possibilities out there that you can begin to see this game for what it is: a game of life.”

 

That’s quite a good speech, Chlo thought, and she knew the others would definitely be taken in by this, as witnessed in ILena’s glowing eyes that might shoot hearts out, or Para’s serious face that tried to construe his features into something that resembled honour, or Mikmik’s clear, steady gaze, the colourless iris fixed on Yeona-eonni.

 

They had to all buy, at least for tonight. After all, they still had their names to hide.

 

As night further fell into darkness, the troupe could only let the deep cold settle into their bones. Yeona and Michael keep vigil, watching over their injured teammate. Yeona out of her position of authority as the one who altered the course of Junie’s life, and Michael, because he was there when his life changed courses. Michael wonders when the debilitating guilt would set in, creeping into his consciousness, pondering on what ifs. He decides to give a rest tonight, if only because he is exhausted from the day’s events, and that he had to rest, at least, for Junie’s behalf. The rest of the team remains subdued, taking their cues from Yeona. No matter how much they bundled up, no artificial warmth can be created and sustained. Even with thermos blankets and backup portable electric heaters, the underlying menacing atmosphere of lost life brought them down, sinking into the poisonous ground.

 

~.~

 

“He need new arm, replacement.” Sasha spoke softly, not wanting to wake up Junie who slept in the corner fitfully, his dreams not letting him rest. “He also needs to start all over again, train new, train moving differently.” Having an arm sawn off and refitted with a robotic one would throw of the balance of the body, the muscles having used to move a certain way would now have to relearn with a foreign object.

 

“You can get one.” Yeona replied, not asking if he knew any suppliers or for his opinion on how to procure such an item. Sasha knew how to work his way around the more grey areas of buying from the black market. “Get Para to help you find a good model, bill it to our account.” One of the many accounts Yeona possessed under different names of different people.

 

“Buying something easy.” Pouring himself a glass of cold water, he did not offer any to Yeona, as he was chilling his body further. The cold is comforting; Sasha was born into an icy world, and would most likely die and disintegrate in one. “Relearning everything, from number one, brand new, that is difficult.”

 

Learning the terms of the health form they signed is also another lesson they could use. What were they signing away, their right to be healthy is already checked, their right to live might also be infringed upon. But it was informed consent. But not all information is given. Details can be omitted. Crucial data can be hidden.

 

Yeona sighed, and Sasha knew this would not be her last, for this competition even. “Remind me to schedule you all in for first aid and basic defence. You all need to learn how to take care of yourselves.” I cannot and may not always be there, she silently thought. She thought they were prepared, but there are some things they had to happen in front of them before they could realise, let it steep in their minds, that they had to do something to prevent another event of this catastrophe from happening.

 

~.~

 

The sounds of Junie’s anguished screams would likely not leave them for a while, instead overstaying its welcome.

 

Michael had done his part, giving Yury a full run-down on everything that had occurred in the arena, the part about Carzar up to the point where he had sent Junie for medical attention, Sasha’s arrival and save for the day, burrowing through tons of mud, to reach the Game Station before rushing Junie to the medical station. His confusion is sincere, as both Michael and Junie were not around when Carzar had tried out in their troupe. He isn’t sure what Yury’s appropriate reaction is. He is expecting shock, disappointment, fury. It is probably a quiet roll of all three combined.

 

“Well, we passed.”

 

“What? But we lost our token.” Stealing is allowed, and whoever Carzar is with has the right to turn in their token as their own. He wishes he could throttle him, but between fretting about Junie, taking care of the rest of the troupe, the rest were left in the dark about he actual circumstances. Michael knew Chlo would have more than a few words to say about it. Michael had given their plastic bag, and he is sure it is empty, along with the used card reader.

 

“You were fortunate in using the card, Mikmik.” Yury explained. “Because we sent Sasha. Who is our best bet.” Spotting Michael’s confusion, Yury barraged on. “You know what he is, Mikmik? Sasha, he is contaminated with radioactive material.”

 

This revelation did not surprise Michael, as Sasha’s general exclusivity and living as a hermit probed him to think that there is something different about him.

 

“Gold is used as a protection against radiation. It so happens that Sasha is also walking gold, for his protection. He takes his medication with it.”

 

“… So Sasha dismembered his own arm to give up? Match with Junie?”

 

“No, he only had to give a part of himself. In this case, he gave them actual gold, in its diluted liquid substances, traces that can be found in his body. He gave a blood sample.”

 

“That’s, a very different interpretation of the task.”

 

“It is.” Leaning forward across from him, Yury puts his head up. “The Markers, judges, they like people who interpret their quests in different ways. It wouldn’t be fun if only they were allowed to create twisted scenarios.”

 

“Any news on what the other teams did?”

 

“Yes, and he can find it. I’ve heard the other teams managed to find some hidden stashes, no doubt planted and part of the challenge. Quite a haul, troupes got to keep what they found. By the time you called for reinforcements, there wasn’t enough time to go hunting for treasure. Fortunately, Sasha himself is already gold.”

 

Yury and Michael walked back to the tent where the rest of _Lark Ascending_ is eating their dinner. There is no merry-making mood to eat at the communal dining hall, where other troupes would be more than a little friendly now that the competition is over. Chlo and Yeona remained with Junie and were absent from the dinner party. Accepting the subdued environment, Michael sat down to another round of dry grains.

 

“It’s been an eye-opening experience,” Para commented.

 

“We need to get used to the fact that we can and will get hurt,” Miya glanced at every single face, as though committing them to memory, when she had a dozen times over. If the he thought of their wonderland was made of childish play and would not have consequences had not sunk in Ukraine, seeing Junie in his sorry state might. “And practice more. We still have another qualification round which involve fighting people face to face again.”

 

“Come on, let’s go watch the exhibition plays,” Chlo called out from the opening flap. Yeona had forced her out of their Virgil by Junie’s bedside and told her to freshen up and eat. Chlo is going to make the most of her time, and then she is going to get food to give to Yeona-eonni and Junie. “It’s a good opportunity for us to see the best of the best live, not just replays and video tutorials.” Now that the actual business competition is over, it is time for the fun and games. Troupes that and performed exceptionally well, scoring a considerable amount of points, were popular or was a combination of all 3, are invited to exhibit their talents and skills. As Lark Ascending is a new troupe, they were allowed to go watch the exhibition and hopefully learn something useful. Or just gather intel on their competitors for the next competition. It is also a way for troupes to relax, create social interaction under the banner of small talk and liquid courage. Deals can be made, ties can be severed.

 

~.~

 

The exhibition plays had been fun, a wind-down to their very tiring, very illuminating competition. Michael wanted to be thrown in the fervour, walking from one booth to another showcasing highlights of the competition. Friendly matches were held in the centre square and there was some food that wasn’t factory processed, providing a more carouselling environment for the participants to let their guards down a little and mingle. Yet, he was unable to fully immerse himself and let go with the thrills and spooks of feeling everyone, every move and position, try to grasp different tactics and manoeuvres that had been hidden for fear of being copied and stolen that ILena faithfully described at his side, now on display for everyone to be amazed, at all the details and nuances of gameplay. Underneath the fun and frenzy of the circus, Michael had many questions burning, that did not seem of place to be asking now, or even ever, given his position as an active game player of this troupe.

 

It passed in a daze and by close to midnight, he found himself walking back to the tent for one more night, hopefully having a restful sleep compared to the majority of the duration of the trip. His teammates walked ahead of him, trying to keep the energy up, perhaps hiding their own thoughts and insecurities, discussing amongst themselves what had wondered them in the exhibition. ILena is clinging onto Junie, having forced him to attend the exhibition in an attempt to get him to socialise and stop mulling himself to death over his new situation. Para and Chlo are engrossed in an avid discussion about the pros and cons of a formation that they had witnessed and designing their system with Yury to try it out at home.

 

Walking beside Sasha, the two made an odd pair. Michael, leaning on his staff and Sasha, huddled in a blanket his face not daring to peek out of the head opening. They continued their trail in silence, holding onto their cold drinks. What had seemed like a bright idea, taking a breath of fresh air outside and refreshing themselves with aqua know seemed horrid, as the air was not clean enough to breath even by Shanghai standards and the water here was bought from the convenience store three miles out, distilled, packed and transported weekly. Michael tried to breathe as still as possible, not wanting to inhale the air. He would have to get to his inhaler when they reached the tent.

 

He would have hurried back if not for Sasha holding onto his arm, curling dried fingernails on long sleeve. “Quiet evening today,” he commented. “Whispers carry in the night.”

 

“They do indeed,” Michael replied, wondering where this road of the conversation is leading. He is still a bit caught off guard by what and who Sasha is. From the turn of phrase that he uses, a mixture of his native tongue vocabulary and other languages, to his demeanour and general disposition. He’s a muted colour in the background that does not add to the general action, until he blinked a few more times, and then he still can’t be seen, yet his words and what he does can be felt, almost taking over everything. He doesn’t have to wait long before he hears other speakers in front of him, to the north right corner, muddled with boot steps, trying to be hushed, but a peculiar undertone overtaking their need to be discreet.

 

“Did you hear? Someone died.”

 

“The fuck someone was murdered. This is straight out of a cheap horror paperback.”

 

“Who is it, the lucky person?”

 

“Stop being so morbid.”

 

“Tell me, who.”

 

“I think one of the judges, the one with dark hair. The Israeli one.”

 

“A judge? How are they going to proceed with the competition then? Shit, do we have to do another qualification round? I am not going through another demented haunted house.”

 

“And he’s the serial killer with the mask and chainsaw!”

 

He pushed Michael further into the forest, away from whispered voices that were soft enough to pass decorum levels, and loud enough for their intended audience to hear. Rushing into a corner, he takes out a cigar from his pocket, his cloth shelter offering hi room to store any amounts of goods. He offers one to Michael, who shakes his head profusely. Asthma makes it impossible to enjoy any forms of recreational toxin to the lungs. For Sasha, he supposes, there is not much that could already damage his body, he is walking biochemical weapon, cancer sticks be damned.

 

“It will do nothing, us telling them we did not kill him,” Sasha exhaled on his cigar. Michael wondered why he would bring further harm to his body, but there probably isn’t going to be much that would destroy his body than the poison that slowly coursed through his veins.

 

The question is, who did. The two parter this, why. It is easy to disassociate the process from the act itself. They did not need to know how it is done, because these games have taught them, there are a hundred million ways to do it. The important objective is to find out the effects and consequences of this. The motive would inform the agenda.

 

“This is bad news though.” Sasha drawled. “Could be on purpose to give the competition, the organisers, a bad name.”

 

“Sabotage?”

 

“It can be. If people find out that someone was killed, during a competition that would be bad for organisers. Having someone murdered on their watch.”

 

“Sasha, if there is anything we learned today, it’s that you can be killed. It’s not about being safe, it’s about the thrill of almost being dead, but not dying. Because no one actually wants to die.”

 

“Exactly.” Exhaling, blowing smoke circles. He thumbs the centre, and his dreamy web plunges out of sight, out of the universe. “A judge dying, eh. No one cares. There are other judges, 6 others, who give you marks. They rely on Markers to give more information. But what if a competitor dies. And not just by their own fault.” Sasha would think Michael would at least know that people could die by their on omission, as it is legally allowed, according to the documents that they signed their fate to.

 

“Maybe it’s the Phantom Massacre.”

 

“Right, and what will they be here, killing one person. They might as well have obliterated all of us, as the name implies. They wouldn’t have made the trip all the way down just to what, slaughter a judge. What point does that make. It’s one of the participants here, I say. You know this game, Kostya. We were all in it, from young. There are so many crazy motherfuckers in this game, they’re lining up to be part of the firing squad. Gives them a chance, to go on a murderous rampage right under the nose of the law.”

 

The grand master of the competition says the last of this in his own language, as he was walking with another man back to the judges’ tents.

 

Sasha walked closer to Mikmik, being careful not to let any fingers touch him. Michael can barely understand it, his Russian not being as good as the other thousands of languages he had to learn at Jang-won.

 

“They are correct. They would not just kill one person. But the person that is dead, he is a judge. From International Gaming Association. If it is them, their targets are becoming more political. But he is also correct.” There were too many killers in this game.

 

“Aren’t they just an urban legend?”

 

He could feel Sasha turned to him. “Do you know what that means?”

 

“It means, it’s a tale. Something mothers tell to their children at night. Sometimes the story gets muddled along the way, many variations that keeps it interesting.”

 

Sasha continued walking on, his knees banging against each other, hollowing out. He must be a wooden boy hell bent on fixing himself, even if he were to experiment on his own body. “You don’t understand what that means in game world. It’s means it’s Legend. Powerful. Known for something, good and bad.” He took a sharp turn, pulling Michael along. “There are many Legends in Inner Universe. You are correct, many stories about them. Many different types, kinds, about what they do. There is the one thing, all the same about them. It’s about how terrible they are. They are, what you call, a dark mark.”

 

“A harbinger of bad luck.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“As you’ve said, Phantom Massacre is just one of the many Legends in Inner Universe. They can be the scapegoat for all the terrible things that happen. Besides, you don’t sound as though you put a lot of stock in them.”

 

“It does not make them less danger. They are bad news, you do not meet them anywhere, anytime.” Michael can’t decide if these mythical figures were dangerous, or the voice that spoke of them created larger than life villains. Sasha’s low, gravel voice, ringing over radio isotopes and exposed to the poisonous microscopic spores that remain visible to most naked eye made every word sound dark, ominous, a voice for narrating nightmares.

 

Before lifting the flap of their tent open, his arm brushed against Sasha’s back, feeling his skin beneath the thin sweater. Faint lines groove his back, a quick fleeting touch of scarred ridges where smooth expanse should be.

 

“Old scars,” Sasha spoke to the dead of the night.

 

Some scars take years to heal. Usually they are the ones that cannot be seen.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Thank you for patiently waiting. Reviews are always appreciated.
> 
> Soundtrack
> 
> 1\. Run Boy Run by Woodkid  
> 2\. Stillness of the Mind by Abel Korzeniowski  
> 3\. Raven by Do As Infinity  
> 4\. Halcyon And On And On by Orbital  
> 5\. Lullaby for Cain by Sinead O’Connor  
> 6\. Superman’s Dead by Our Lady Peace  
> 7\. Enigmatism by Mike Oldfield


	8. Chapter 7 - Vitriolic Tranquility

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One world is not enough for humans. So we made more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I might take a longer posting the next few chapters to figure out how to structure them. Thank you for reading.

**Vitriolic Tranquility**

 

 

 _Pripyat, Kiev Oblast, Ivankiv Raion, Northern Ukraine_.

 

 

While the rest of the night is calm, the morning is a thundering storm. People are moving out of their one-week living quarters and packing to leave home. It is the end of the competition. For now, until the next round. For the lucky few, they had another official IGA competition, and others would have to slot themselves in senior Bs.

 

“I hope this has been a good learning journey for all of you,” Yury remains positive. Seeing the tired and gone faces of his crew, he decides to remain sombre for the rest of the journey. No doubt Para or Chlo would break the monotony shrieking about something nonsensical at some time but for now, they are quiet, the energy drained from their bodies. They will ponder on the contemplative ride home.

 

It is better than talking about dead people wandering around where they should not have gone.

 

Chlo kicks an empty food container in her way as she marches off, holding tightly to her bag and preparing for another round of stringent security. They leave behind empty shells, tents that they did not tear down but would probably be dismantled within a day, leaving the barren field scrubbed free, the roots bared and yellow from being trampled and holding many people. The cleaning crew would probably not be as strict as the officers at the checkpoints, where they would be subjected to a full health screening, injections for blood tests, temperature taking, and all the medical routines they had to endure before making their way out of the countryside. A lot of paperwork they had signed, tons of pages they had breezed through by without bothering to read the exact details of what they are now bound too.

 

They may have been let into the exclusion zone easily, but no one is coming out the same route without extensive checking. The souvenirs that they bring home, a bundle of health regulation tests, injection puncture wounds a health stamp certifying them fit for re-entry into civilisation, with the possibility of radiation contamination.

 

Yeona heads the front, the stern faces of the troupe that trail behind her, pale faces ghosting away from the sunset town.

 

“Stranger things have happen, Mikmik. Hold on to what you know, or it will be taken away.” Maybe you let them fall, trying to get away from it all.

 

“Are you ready to go home?”

 

The clanging sounds of metal against metal alerted him to the figure in front of him. Junie stumbled in front of him, clinging onto Para. He would have to start training his body to balance with his new weight. They all worries and problems that were bringing them down.

 

Home. Jang-won is home now. It has come to be. He is not sure how long it would be, but for now, it is and will suffice.

 

“Yes. Let’s go.”

 

 

_Classroom C, Jang-won_

 

 

“And now you place the bandage on the wound, hold it in place, then wrap it around – ILena, don’t press hard on the wound, the patient is injured and should be handled with delicate care and concern, remember, not comatose. Para! Stop poking your dummy! Leave it in a lying position on your bench.”

 

“I can’t help it!” Para rebutted from his station, clutching the squishing arm of his doll. “Mine is a creepy looking one, with her long dark hair like one of those creepy jilted woman who become the ghosts hanging from the ceiling. And her eyes, her eyes are this almost unnatural shade of blue, I’m sure this shade does not exist in nature. No one has eyes the colour of sapphires, unless they’ve been drinking too much on Halloween costume night. The eyes also don’t blink, which isn’t realistic. I thought you were supposed to order anatomically correct mannequins, where did you find these dolls?” Butting the head of his patient back onto the table, it thudded on the metal bench like a lead ball.

 

“Yury, we put like this, no?”

 

“No-“ Yury shifted over to where ILena has set up her station, the majority of bandages wrapped in her arms more than it was on her doll. She is close to mummifying herself. “The bandages are slipping, ILena. Chlo, have you wrapped yours yet? Stop shoving the bandages onto your head.”

 

“Not like it’s going to feel anything. It’s a fake patient.” Chlo called out as she stubbed her nails on the skin, squishing half-moon circles, a trail of off-white falling from her head, a daunting veil. Fashioning a turban for herself is more fun than attempting first aid on a mannequin. She had respect for nurses and their work, which is why she did not feign pretence at the art of dressing wounds. She was an aide for Yeona-eonni for a few hours, and that was enough to put her of being a certified medical practitioner herself.

 

“Excuse you, Chlo, but my fake patient loves me.” Para hollered as he knotted the bandages onto his mannequin’s arm.

 

“That’s because real people seeking medical attention will run in terror from you.”

 

“I guess not all of us are cut out be in the nursing field, huh Yury?” Para smiled winningly at his mentor slash troupe mate, ignoring Chlo’s jibes.

 

“Right, I want you all to practice this in your spare time.” Yury loudly proclaimed, ending their session. He wanted to train them to basic competency by the time they set foot in their next competition. Right now, they could barely differentiate an insect bite from a bloody wound. For shame.  “Basic first aid skills can mean the difference between life and death.”

 

“I thought we were avoiding the whole dying thing.” Chlo thinks this is the best course of action and intended to stick to it.

 

“And you need to take care of your team mates.” Yury ignored Chlo’s smart-ass remarks. He had to be uplifting, encouraging even. “If either one of you gets hurt in the arena, you have to depend on your partner to patch you up before you are able to receive any medical aid.”

 

“Even when our next few challenges would unbearably involve the Gaming Station?”

 

“Especially that.” He looked at them all, the corners of his mouth pinched. “You can get hurt while in the chair, in the Nest playing. I’m not talking about carpal tunnel syndrome, or loss of blood to the legs, very minor aftereffects from sitting by your computer all day long. That’s the least of your problems.” Emotions run high during a battle, you have all been in enough training matches to know how caught you can be gaming.” It’s a job hazard that they had to take with their nightmare hobby.

 

“Alright,” clapping his hands to get the troupe’s attention, Yury instructed them to tidy up their workbenches and place their dummies back into the cupboard. Once they had done so, he called them to the centre of the room, and they sat in chairs forming a circle. “To end the lesson, I would like each of you to tell us one thing you learnt from your first competition experience.”

 

After all the excitement of the first competition, they are back to training full time in preparation for their next competition. On top of regular training and conditioning, they were now being encouraged, which is a code word for forced, to expand on their repertoire of skills, such as first aid. They also had more training sessions together, but that is a given. There is much ado in Jang-won. It is back to the daily grind of lessons and training at Jang-won. With the excitement of their debut in competition is over, the troupe now has to prepare themselves for another qualification round, one which they had to step up their game. They were no longer new comers, testing their toes in the water. They had to wade in the deep waters, and sink or swim as they ventured into the deep ocean.

 

The season is not halfway done.

 

They have to be more trained for now that they have experienced the sights and                                                  sounds of a competition first hand. No one is going to give them any second chances, not that it was a baby’s walk in the park. Yeona had tightened their schedule, prepping them with more gaming exercises, in twos for matches and together as a troupe. Classes became more gruelling, with more homework piled at the end of the day, and still attending to various household duties that read more as chores, such as farming, working in the library. Michael is surprised he has any time to be alone, if he is not jam-packed eating meals with his troupe mates, doing dance patterns with the others, or engaging in online battles.

 

Battles that relied on quick instincts that he had to honed, because the others relied on him as much as he relied on them. No one wanted to go down, even though they tried not to talk about this in front of Junie. Frankly, avoiding that topic is adding flint, that would eventually ignite and spark into a furious fire, and Michael is trying to find a way to broach the conversation. But Junie had been less than courteous to him before the accident (accident, not incident as Chlo liked to skirt around), and if he had been avoiding him, he was now downright anti-social, even going so far as to not eat at the hearth during meal times. Of course, he preferred taking his meals in the sick bay, having to adjust to a slightly different schedule filled with a lot of therapy and rehabilitation sessions, but there are limits to being rude.

 

“That Markers are weird little shits.” Para always believed in a policy of being honest, at least in front of the people he trusted. Yury had tried to kick of their discussion of the week regarding post-traumatic disorder and other related war syndromes and its effect on soldiers in the Iran-Iraq War and the comparison with their own experiences, yet Para didn’t think they could relate much if they were avoiding much of the actual talk on what they had seen and encountered per say. “Or that there are a lot of things that we didn’t think we would see.”

 

“See and hear and feel, Para. Not all of us can see.”

 

“No Chlo, that was not a dig at MikMik.” Michael nodded his head in Para’s direction, not having taken any prior offence. “Just that, at least for me,” he wanted to add in case the other’s experiences countered his and most likely did not reveal all of his true emotions,  “I never thought it could feel so, well, real.”

 

Although Yury may not have foreseen this turn in the discussion, he knew it would be brought up sooner or later. Perhaps it is good now, he can weave it into the lessons and pass it off as a learning experience, neat little bullet points for everyone to take note of, revised, keep in their notes, memorise, and bring it with them to the next competition, ticking each point off as they went through their upcoming matches. “What did you not feel was real?”

 

“That whatever I did, had like some consequence. Any action performed is met with an opposing force, basic law of natural physics. In the world of computer gaming, the same rules apply. Whatever action we make, there is always a force reacting against us, be it a spambot or another player. But we don’t feel it, the emotions, the pain, the sadness, the fury of the other player. We can feel what we feel to be sure. The rush of excitement at having executed a brilliant manoeuvre, the crushing disappointment at being defeated even when in a formation that you have practiced hours on end. All that,” he raises his arm, trying to draw his figurative picture with the air, coursing up, down, trying to break down invisible holes, “You can feel it when you are actually facing someone else.”

 

“All the more when someone dies.” Miya’s statement to Para’s monologue brings them to the severity of the situation.

 

“Why are you in this?” Para’s question breaks the silence again, as he addresses it to everyone.

 

“Isn’t it obvious, for the money? Riches and fame, reputation, other luxurious tangible things that you can drown yourselves in it.” Chlo gives a straightforward reply, as it is the reason, her reason at least, for signing up for the virtual mayhem.

 

“And now that you have been in competition, how do you feel?” Are the reasons for playing before the first qualification round and all the madness that came along with it still the same.

 

Chlo remained silent, not wanting to be on the pedestal, in front of everyone, seeking unwanted attention.

 

“Does it matter?” Miya’s statement posed a question to the group. “Think of it as another thing to do. Another challenge, to get through to the end game.”

 

“What, like washing the dishes by hand, like finishing a book for class, planting the food?” Chloe asked, wanting to know the answers. “Like, it’s just, nothing? Not a big deal?”

 

“It’s only a big deal if we make it to be.” Miya’s reply is a gentle chiding, from a parent to a child who has fallen down and scrapped their knee and requests comfort to quell their tears, slow pats on the head, fingers running through hair, words of encouragement that the pain will only last a minute. “No one has faced any deadly consequences.” As of yet, that they knew of.

 

“Like how we play a game.” There is only one game they play, and if they stick their mind to it, it should be simple. Let it run its course, step by step.

 

Yury looks at all of them. “Like what you are doing now. The force can have an effect on you, but it cannot affect you.” He hopes everyone gets the difference between the two.

 

“Well, you certainly aren’t playing for money, Para.” Chlo tries to bring the discussion back to something more palatable, something that dos not touch on other darker desires that they might not have come to terms to and would not wish to admit. Para did have enough of it, stacks lying and vaulted all around the world, invested in different projects, materialised in his side antiques collection acquisition.

 

“I know I don’t need the money Chlo, I already have enough of that.” He is not trying to be smug, he had never gone through any pains to hide where he came from. “I’m not playing for gold here.” Playing with his fingers, he retracts a joint, index and middle finger curdling. “For the thrill of it, I guess. I seek adventure, new manoeuvres to make, more land to traverse, completing quests, the like. You can do it all without actually going anywhere. It requires little physical effort to go somewhere, well most of the time.” Para looked at Chlo, trying to convince who he saw as his closest partner. “We try to find this thrill, seek it, chase the high, and the more we are in it, the more we have to play. It’s addictive, isn’t it. I reckon most of us are.”

 

“So, it’s an unhealthy drug that has harmful ramifications on our body and life.” He touches upon the danger of seeking a thrill they can afford now, until they cannot.

 

Without Junie around to throw in his wisecracks, the mood of conversations chill considerably. Chlo is not afraid to let her bite cut more than others would allow wounds to open, Para’s contemplation veers between philosophical and maundering, Miya’s questions are read as statements, and ILena is silent. Yury isn’t sure if it is because she is actually thinking about what is being said or because she is having trouble understanding half the things Para is talking about. They really needed to integrate Junie back into training with the rest, Michael thought. It’s funny how you never know the way in which someone fits in until the person is gone, leaving a hole roughly the shape of the person and how the dynamics changing, running above and under the hole with varying degrees of success.

 

“Glad that you were able to reach these conclusions about what we are doing here.”

 

Ending on a sour note, Yury wrapped up the discussion and got the troupe out of their seats. The group scatters, having to run off to various destinations. Yury sighs as he gathers the cushion seats, piling them up in a neat stack. Even in the midst of tension, he still cannot get his teammates to clean up after themselves. Everyone has their own mini drama to sort out.

 

“I’ll go check on Junie.” ILena said as she made her way out of the room, quickly bypassing Michael. She didn’t want him to feel terrible about anything that involved Junie and their relationship, so she took it upon herself to visit and care for Junie in the infirmary on his behalf. Junie would know he sends his regards, if the flowers freshly set in a glass vase next to his bed were any indication. And if Junie claimed pollen allergies even though he had a green thumb farming their food supply, and tending to his own plot that Yeona-eonni and gifted him to cultivate his hobby, she conveniently ignored. Junie did not have to be bothered by his lack of arm and Michael did not have to be burdened by a problem he did not cause.

 

Michael makes his way towards the lift, his gym bag with him filled with clothes for conditioning exercises. Chlo strides out, probably on her way to class as she grumbles about not getting a dance pattern correct under her breath. Miya is gone before any notices her sneaking away on her cat toes.

 

Para walks away to the Gaming Centre as he was given the unfortunate mid-afternoon shift that straddled between sleepy siesta and the excitement before dusk. He puts his bag down at his station, noting Sasha logging out of his shift on the main screen. He types onto his satelpad. _Requesting all documents related to the Health and Safety Clause, including all terms and conditions, and supporting appendix and graphical documents._ Don’t you think in order to be a team, we need to stop keeping secrets, he wondered. Chlo’s insecurities, his own hidden doubts, he’s sure the others have their own.

He did not have to wait long before he receives a reply.

_Permission denied._

 

 

 

_Conference Room, First Floor, East Wing, Jang-won_

 

 

The troupe has gathered to decode their second invitation, or that would be no second competition to qualify to and no safe route to the Grand Championships.

 

“We know its Spanish, that much thanks to Sasha and his sources.”

 

“I take it it’s not numbers in script form?” Para asked.

 

“Hah, they won’t play out the same thing twice in a room. Wouldn’t want to come across as a one trick pony, and we would have solved it as soon as we broke the riddle for the first invitation. Where would the fun be in that?” Chlo tapped her satelpad, looking the lines. “Maybe it’s poetry this time round. I mean’s it’s pointing to where we’re supposed to go, duh, but in lyrical form?” Gesturing to the lines, she looks up to the projected image on the screen.

 

 

_Scream the last name old wild blue mountain,_

_I sing to thee with the birds in flight_

_If there be thorns that spring from fountain,_

_Be careful from their thorny bite_

_The air that sings light the red egg is high,_

_Heavy steps down to catch thy breath sigh_

_Twin snakes stoned against heaven fire and ice,_

_Disappear into the cunning disguise_

_The only haven the glorious waters,_

_Where monsters lie dormant in glitters_

“It’s in iambic tetrameter,” Para muttered.”

 

“Say what?” Chlo asked, staring at Para alongside the rest of her troupe mates. She is not much of a reader for fiction, unless it meant finding patterns in large chunks of data, or screening information for battle tactics.

 

“It’s the way in which a poem is structured. Old English, you can discern the rhyme scheme by the metric feet. So it’s two by four per line, which simply means a beat after every second syllable.”

 

“Wow, Para, I had no idea you were a secret romantic.”

 

“Well, there’s also the structure itself. This one’s in the style of a _Petrarchan Sonnet_ – “

 

“Since when were you into poetry?”

 

“Since we had the first invitation and I realised I didn’t know much about linguistics. Thought I should expand into studying oral and narrative forms, the first of language mediums. Yeona-eonni said we should learn about things outside of what we’re used to, broaden our minds. Knowledge is power, the more we know, the better prepared we are to deal with all kinds of situations.” If the first competition had shown them how far the judges and Markers and planning committee would go to bending the rules to fit their content, they had to pack in all the marvels and esoteric ties they could find and understand.

 

“Huh. Good for you.”

 

“It’s great that you’re taking your lessons seriously Para,” Yury tries to make an example of Para to reign that back to their impertinent discussion.

 

“Why so distracted?”

 

“Just tired. We all are.” The bruises under his eyes must be panda eyes the size of coconuts by now. He didn’t think he pulled the tortured insomniac with a vampire soul howling at the moon look well. ILena agreed as she blotted concealer under his eyes, cold fingers icing his eye bags.

 

Para grinned, the corner of his mouth turned in lasciviousness. “Your lover has been keeping you up at night?”

 

“I do not have a lover!”

 

“Sure, that person you talk to every night isn’t a paramour.”

 

Michael curses the day he decided to let slip that he sometimes likes to play a children’s game online, and has made a friend along the way. It is odd to talk about Kori so casually. A person that he met when he was still in at ho-Luzon, someone he has never met is his only connection to his old life. He occupies thoughts only when he could let his mind and body rest at end of the day, at the end of all the training and lessons. Not that he belonged to him. But he didn’t want to share his, or his memories, with everyone else. Somethings must be private, set aside. “I don’t talk to him every night.”

 

“But you do talk to someone.” Chlo pounced on the truth.

 

“But he isn’t my lover!” Kori isn’t his lover any more than he is a friend, a close friend. Someone who shares a fascination over board games. The thought of Kori as someone who is close he could reconcile with, because Kori had become a confidante of sorts, someone he could talk to after the long hours of training and conditioning and whatever Yeona-ateh put them through to be competition ready. As something more, he had never given much thought, because Michael had known since young that such terminology did not apply to him. His mother and siblings had treated him as a person, that whatever deficiencies were deemed abnormal were what made him all the more special. But special also meant that he was not normal, and he would never be a normal person. He had come to accept himself as what he was and would be, but it meant that having certain things. Romantic relationships. Love. The physical act of love. Establishing long term committed relationships that may or may not involve children. As these were things he did not have access to, he did not think of them.

 

“Sure, midnight chats not withstanding.” Para throws an arm over Michael’s chair in mock support. “There’s nothing to be shy and modest about it, we all find our ways to blow off our steam after training.”

 

“Is anybody not concerned that he is speaking to a random person on the nets. Dear Mikmik, I know you are a bit of a country bumpkin,” Chlo is halted mid-sentence by Michael’s indignant shout, “But seriously, have you not heard of stranger danger? What if you are catfished? Strung out, taken for a ride, only to be humiliated? You could be unknowingly hooking up with a serial killer after pretty boys. Underage pretty boys,” she leered at the end.

 

“Hey, I’m legal in – “

 

“So not the point, Mikmik. You hardly know anything about this Kori fellow. Whether it is a she or he or somewhere in between. ”

 

He did not need to, it is a few games of dama and good conversation he is after. “Doesn’t matter, everyone I talk to is rated 10 in my books.” Here Michael gives a charming smile of disbelief, hoping he can reassure everyone. There were some plus points to being visually impaired, he always looked on the bright side of life, pun fully intended. “Besides, Kori’s not a complete stranger, I haven’t given he or her any incrementing or important personal details.”

 

“Oh, and no one can trace your electronic address via tracking your net service provider?” Para knows Junie has tried hacking from outside to test Jang-won’s security systems, and according to the weekly reports he runs, their manor’s systems are made to withstand hacks more strenuous than the ones to the Pentagon, thanks to Yury’s and Junie’s constant upkeep.

 

“Unlikely, Jang-won has state of the art servers.” Junie fills them in about his expertise, the first time he speaks up during the meeting. “We can track every message that comes in and out of this place. We’ll know of any potential and possible suspicious activity. Mikmik’s little night delight is not anyone frightening.”

 

“Can we please move on to topics that actually matter and concern our lives at this pivotal moment? Such as the final qualification round,” Miya piped up from her perch, leaning against the wall.

 

“Thank you Miya for getting us back on track.” Yury spoke.

 

“Right, we’ll have to do some actual research for this. I’ll go hunt the online portals, get Junie to help me.” Para wanted Junie to come out of his shell instead of wasting away in bed. Hopefully the challenge of finding something unknown would wake him from his depressed stupor and turn him back into a productive member of a team. Chlo couldn’t convince him as a friend, maybe kicking him in the head with a mystery that required a lot of hits and resources to surf through would remind him why he decided to come to Jang-won in the first place.

 

“I guess I could look at the stacks,” Michael said. He had a shift at the library in for the next two days. Surely there was some material that had not been digitised. The answer might be sitting in a shelf, gathering dust, forgotten by the passage of digital time that travelled faster than the speed of light.

 

“I help you,” ILena spoke next to him. Michael thanked her. They would be able to effectively divide the work amongst themselves. They had a lot of books to burn through.

 

“That settles it for now.” Yury gathered his belongings from the table as he dismissed the troupe. “Happy hunting.”

 

 

_Laboratory A, Sub-sub Basement, Jang-won_

 

 

“It’s time for your mid-afternoon dose.” Miya considers herself the picture of punctuality; having to maintain their online educational archives, update everyone on their monthly schedules, post lesson discussions. Her job description ensured that there were many secrets that she would accumulate, gleaned from everyone’s day-to-day schedule. Most were not epic, they were mostly day to day simple details that only one who constructs and adheres to plans would know about. She likes being on the ball of things, making sure everyone is able to get to and fro from whatever duties, mixing the right amount of people so that no clashes and would laze about, but would perform their optimum best.

 

Sasha tends to throw a wrench in those plans because he doesn’t quite like to stick to the schedule.

 

Miya is still as a statue as she holds the needle, piercing the skin.

 

“You good at this.”

 

“I’ve been giving you your medication for the past two years, I think after a while I would get the hang of it.”

 

“Maybe I should learn it.”

 

She hmms, neither in confirmation or disagreement. “It’s a useful trade.”

 

Aside from Yury, and Michael who had been told about his true nature, Miya is the only one other from the two who knows his secrets. She is probably the only what that is aware of the extent of it, being the one that is in charge of diagnosis, prescribing and dispensing his medication. It is because of this that Miya is the one he trusts least. The little child-woman is also the most quiet, not divulging his secret to the rest of the troupe. For all they knew, Sasha is a sociopathic hermit who prefers the company of dust and beetles.

 

He would tell others, inform Yury at least about his thoughts. That is if he cares about the livelihood of the group. Sasha isn’t sure he does care more _Lark Ascending_ anymore than one has sentimentality for a cute creature who got stuck in an animal trap. It is hard to look away and not help, but that didn’t mean he wanted to be its owner and give it his own home.

 

“Why did you come to Jang-won. You are very smart, lots of places for you to go.” Miya is brilliant, there wouldn’t be a shortage of places that she could go to. Troupes would kill to have somewhere as on the ball of the agenda as she is, her quick wit would also be appreciated in administration, and other employment opportunities not restricted to gaming.

 

“To play. I presume you were also lured here for the same reason.”

 

“Play. How about a game with me?” Sasha doesn’t wait for Miya’s consent, opting to turn to his desktop that already had a game programme open. Miya glanced at the screen, her lips twitched in amusement.

 

“ _Counter Star_?”

 

“A game is a game.” Sasha liked to blow steam playing basic point-and-shoot games, this particular one popular amongst children and adults alike. He walked round to the corner, lifted up the dust cover and placed it on the ground at the side. He booted the game on his old Macintosh, waiting for the main gameframe to load. Once the main page appeared on the screen, he entered his and Miya’s name.

 

“First one to kill as may when the time limit is up wins.” A simple game with basic rules, should be a cake walk. He took out the two controls from underneath, plugged into the ancient computer and tossed one to Miya.

 

He doesn’t wait for Miya’s nod to begin. If he cheated a little from her distraction, it’s all part of the hunt.

 

The soft electronic sounds of the game filled the room, bouncing against the cramped surroundings. Sasha lets a few startled grunts at intervals, shooting up targets, tapping the side of his control impatiently with his long gnarled fingernails quickly refilling his rounds. Miya remained passive as always, the only sign of her playing were the methodolical taps on the buttons.

 

“You win this round,” Sasha gave it to her, not begrudgingly.

 

“Perhaps if you cut your nails every so often.”

 

“You are not becoming my manicurist.” She already looked after his health, she shouldn’t be looking into all aspects of his life. He can take care of himself. He wouldn’t want her claws to sink into areas that were private. If he decided to take a look at what she did, it was all for the good of the troupe. Miya’s walls are titanium bred, a stronghold that he can’t penetrate, or seep through. Even with the sick power of gold and radioactivity rushing through his veins.

 

“I came to be well.” Miya held his daily medication, dispensed only by Yeona-san herself. She had to know that he had valid reasons. He answered his own question as Miya had paid respect and given hers. It could be the truth. When lying, it is best to tell part of the truth, omitting the more important details. He wondered who had ill health, him or her. She would incur a longer sickness, acting as his primary caretaker.

 

“Yes, we all like to stick to what we do best.” Turning to face her, he placed the console on a small table at the side. “And that means no going at a high altitude, for me.”

 

She raised one neatly trimmed eyebrow at him in askance.

 

“The poem,” Sasha explained. “The part about ascending at noon when the sun is at its highest, and waiting for the sun to come back to descend. The air that leaves you breathless when you go up, and catching it when you come down. It’s definitely in the mountains, that’s where we will be headed next.”

 

Miya smiled. “That’s an excellent interpretation.” She concluded.

 

Miya scooped the medication bag from the counter and stood up. “That was a rather exhilarating game.” He didn’t point out her sarcasm. Miya’s flat tone led one to confusion as to whether she was being ironic or not. It made her words difficult to intepret, difficult to guess her true intentions. “But I must be going.” Sasha is not the only one she has to answer to. She walked out, the doors to the room swinging open.

 

“I hope you find what you are looking for.” He gave her a parting call.

 

She did not look back when she replied. “Finish your medication.”

 

 

_Training Room F, Jang-won_

 

 

“Come on, Junie, you have to try.” ILena is not giving up, and neither should Junie. She would not allow any quitters, especially under her watch. How many attempts should be made and getting the same result endlessly before they call it quits?

 

“What’s the point?” I’m useless, he wanted to say, yet the words did not leave his mouth. Junie was getting more sullen, if possible.

 

“To see if you can still do it.”

 

“I can’t.”

 

“How do you know?”

 

“I can’t, because I know my own body.” Damn it, why does ILena have to make it difficult with her cheerfulness. He would miss this, miss her happiness, his sparring matches with Para, his banter with Chlo although he would be the last one on his dying be to admit it. Yeona-eonni would classify him as useless, chop his papers, dismiss him from Jang-won, and he would be left to sell his body in the red-light district to make the crummy rent at some third rate apartment.

 

“You can! You can, and you must! Don’t be such a wool head! You have to fight and not give up, that’s why you come here, right? Unless you go home, with tail between your legs, back to your family. You might be safe there too, you have loving family and friends, like your neighbour.”

 

“What the- how the hell do you know about – “

 

“I sort our snail mail, you know. And I divide and bring to everyone their letters, also yours. Yours is a great, big pile that you do not read, or you put to one corner and hope it disappears, or you just throw away. She is very worried, why you never tell her you are ok here. Anyway, even though she wants you to come back, I know she would want you to be happy. Are you happy now, giving up?”

 

“For fuck’s sake, open your eye, ILena. Look at me. Take a look at this arm, it’s nothing now.” He tossed his arm in the air, as though it would make the chunk of metal light as a feather. It clinked back to his side with a hollow ring. “Just metal. I can’t do anything.”

 

“Yeona managed to get one of considerable quality. It’s not just metal, nothing ever is. It’s metal and iron and chrome and zinc and carbon – “

 

“Naming out the different components and dressing this up isn’t going to change anything. I’m deformed! I’m utterly useless now, I can’t get my fingers to move, my entire arm doesn’t move together with my body! Fuck, I can’t even scratch my asshole.” The last part of his speech would have been comical, if not for the angry tone it is rendered in. In other words, he felt that this is how Michael is. Without any ego to spur on his bravado and sense of wonderment with the world.

 

Chlo stood up, her tattoos bold in the bright light. “Ok, I just have had it with your one man pity party. I did not ask to be invited to hear your cheese and whine.” Stalking towards him, she is showing the determination of not tossing him out of the nearest window.

 

“My arm – “

 

“Your arm, your arm. So you lost one arm. There’s lots of people who manage without both, so you’re just going to have to deal. No one’s saying it would be easy.”  The words were firing one after another, she couldn’t stop them. “I was there, Junie. I was there when Yeona-eonni made the decision to hack it away, because it was killing you. It was a terrible growth, going to eat you all up.”

 

Junie looked at his metal arm, eyes burning in anger. His own body, turning against him, doing something against his will, something he couldn’t even see. What good is he, if he cannot trust his basic banal instinct.

 

“Now, let’s see you do some more stretches, before you move towards position balancing,” Chlo recited as she held out her own arm. The stretch exercises Junie is supposed to be religiously doing, taught by Yury. “If I have to do this, you’re not getting away scot free.”

 

“Slave-driver.” Junie muttered under his breath.

 

“What did you say?”

 

“Nothing, not a thing.” Holding out his new arm, he tried not too look at where his original flesh met metal. A foreign body that was chewing up the remains of who he is.

 

“We weren’t going to let you be gobbled up.” Chlo smirks.

 

“I take it back, we should have thrown you into the hole.”

 

 

_Training Room P, Jang-Won_

 

 

 _“You have to turn your pattern into a routine. That is when it becomes higher, becomes art.”_ These words drummed into his head, whispering into a scream as his legs moved on their own accord. He had been toying with this pattern, choosing this music, having been inspired by the troupe to learn the origins of its name.

 

Maybe if he danced the afternoon away, it would turn into night in the blink of an eye. ILena and him had gone through several hundred books by his last count, and nothing remotely useful caught their attention. Michael’s ears are burning from his overheated earplugs, listening to one audiobook after another. ILena’s thumbs are probably creased from turning pages and swiping on her satelpad. He and her were not Para and Chlo, able to absorb large amounts of data and find patterns in the gaps where no one is looking, and alas, they hadn’t made much progress. Except for disturbing old memories and immersing themselves in whimsy nostalgia, the scent of old tomes and mildew pages surrounding their studies.

 

Since he doesn’t see, he would not notice time slipping away, night callusing into day, succumbing to night again. He could forget about having to make bonds, bonds that should stay. It is nice spending time with ILena, even if making relationships also came at the expense of having to work, game, or do tasks related to the two.

 

For now, he can let that take a backseat as he practices. It isn’t a chore to be flexible and nimble on his toes. The sombre notes fill the air, adding more melodramatic rhythms to his room. With the exception of the air coming in from the grilled windows, the bars that cut shadow lines on his profile to the audience made the room cover him, eat their prisoner.

 

“This is not a good piece.”

 

Her words pierce the throbbing silence. He stops his performance at her request, but the music continues, the sharp lifts of the notes thrilling to a climax that is never reached.

 

“There are other better pieces.”

 

“There are, but this one’s good as well.”

 

“The beat is too overpowering. It almost swallows up what you are doing. How about dancing to something that lets you grow, find yourself, have your own dance.” Why couldn’t he do as he is told?

 

“It’s a got a great beat, I think.” Michael turned to Yeona-ateh, he enjoyed discussing music pieces with her as she seemed to have strong opinions about it. She should have, having danced to some very intricate and complex routines.

 

“You cannot dance to this.” This song of freedom, liberation, anthem of the fallen. It did not do anything but cage her.

 

Signalling to pause _Adios Nino_ music, Michael turned to face Yeona-ateh.

 

“But it’s not as spooky as _Danse Macabre_ – “

 

“I said NO!”

 

She said no.

 

Why didn’t he listen to her? Why didn’t he stop when she told him to? Why Why What Who What Why What When Why –

 

Taking a deep breath, she opened her eyes wide. Mikmik could not see her, he did not take her, take anything from her. They are here, in the training room, in Jang-won, no one can reach her, no one can touch her without her permission -

 

He complied her wishes.

 

Arms still held up, Michael could hear the anger, the fury behind her sentences, tinged with a hatched fear that took flight when it should be locked deep and buried.

 

“It’s off, Yeona-ateh,” he quietly speaks, not wanting to hurt her with the weight of the deafening silence.

 

She knows, she cannot hear the crashing music that threatens to bury her alive. It did once, not a long time ago.

 

The others will be buried without a stitch.

 

Michael stays quiet, waiting for a more complete response that isn’t his to ask for. He exercises to prevent himself from bringing harm to others, lessening the crucial damage caused by mistakes, as much as he tries to forget the part that he plays in harming his own team mates. He wonders if she feels as guilty as he does about Junie.

 

He doesn’t have to wait for long when he hears footsteps fading from the room.

 

 

_Game Centre, Jang-won_

 

 

“Do you think it’s odd that someone actually died?”

 

“People die all the time, every day, every second.”

 

“Aside from the natural cycle of life and death that we are all familiar about, I assume Para is talking about the uncanniness of someone other than a participant in the competition dying.”

 

“Doesn’t this make it dangerous? Who would want to go to competitions then?”

 

“Who would want to kill a judge? Same answer as to who would want to cheat. It’s a game, although killing someone is rather drastic. Not to mention in whose favour you’re trying to get. Heh, maybe it’s someone not of this world.”

 

“What?” Chlo swung around her chair to face Para, not stopping as she fumbled with the straps that would secure ILena to the Nest. ILena stands still as she tries to tie herself in, an incredulous expression painted on her face. Whether it is from the topic of the conversation or having to station herself, she isn’t sure.

 

“You know, things we can’t ah, see.”

 

“You’re way into conspiracy theories, Para. This is just ridiculous. Ghosts, really? Next thing you’re going to say is it’s the supernatural that walk this Earth.”

 

“You don’t believe in the unseen? Chlo, we play a game, a game, may I add, where we actually feel, act and respond to on more than purely digital level.”

 

“What, you’re now afraid to walk on land that has been cursed? If we tried to avoid every single property that has been rumoured to be supposedly haunted or where there are old crumbling cemeteries, or land that has been slated for reconstruction, we would have died from rapid urban redevelopment a long time ago.”

 

“There’s been a lot of talk on RuneSkate, but nothing concrete.”

 

Chlo knew that listening to all the talk shop on the forums would lead Para astray into believing controversies. “By the way, are we buying any of the gold bars? We haven’t got many left.”

 

The currency of the land they were situated in for the moment is gold, and they did not have much left, having traded the last in the market square and now heading deep into the countryside. While they can survive without money until they reached the next town, they would need to stock up. Chlo had suggested buying them physically and converting it to virtual objects, as is common when requiring items that were in short supply. However, these transactions were banned during the gaming sessions in competition and Yeona-eonni had requested they cut back on their expenditure.

 

“We can put a small order down, I don’t think Yeona-eonni and Yury will mind since it’s not competition now, and you never know, we could be heading to a town next in the arena.”

 

Chlo sighed as she tucked ILena’s elbows onto the straps. There should be no loose machinery when working the Nest. “You think there are ghosts in there?”

 

“If you believe in ghosts here, they must also be there.”

 

“Right, enough talk about things that may not exist. This, Inner Universe, does actually in fact exist, and every minute we spend not in the game means money we are losing.” Getting paid to be in a game, battling, marketing, making trade, having interaction in general, kept the game alive, kept players inside, kept organisations invested. They were paid to practice by advertisers, gaming companies, in their case, a very wealthy individual.

 

She closes the door once ILena is strapped in and bounds to her station. Chlo takes her seat at her station and she and Para watch the familiar signature appear on the screen.

 

_Kukla has signed on._

 

The simulation starts out in the dusty plains. They are travelling further inwards in Maladonia, ploughing through grainy tundra. Having spent the last few weeks in a grey desert had everyone longing for the ocean, the rough and choppy waves the background of a sea lullaby that they are lulled into. Whoever is in the Nest at that point would hear the salty tang of the ocean, the call of the frigid breeze in their bones, rocking back and forth viciously. They did not mean any desert pirates in Maladonia, but at this rate, they wanted to throw back a bit of excitement in their planned routes. The most danger they encountered were the few roadside peddlers they met trying to scam them with inflated prices, which they did not have to fall for, due to Chlo stocking up well in the market square before drifting away from the main town to the countryside.

 

“ _Not much here today_.” Para said. There would probably not be much action today, hopefully they could bank in time ad money.

 

Sometimes they speak too soon.

 

Thunder boomed and lightning struck, the heavy clouds breaking into rain. Para and Chlo magnified the map, looking for temporary shelter while ILena ran out of the well-trod path and into the wild fields, looking to take cover. Wit their eyes glued to the enlarged map, they did not see the water droplets transforming into deadly stones. It is ILena’s cries, from their head speakers that jolts them back.

 

“ _Wait, a minute, is that –_ “

 

Before Para could finish his sentence, a shower of hale appeared on the screen, raining heaven fury onto ILena.

 

“ _What the hell, get her out of here_.”  Chlo shouted at herself, immediately pushing the forward to get ILena to dug for cover. ILena wrestled in the Nest, her legs moving back and forth, cycling from the invisible stones that were hitting her. On screen, her head is bowed low, glancing up every few seconds when she could to look for any nearby shelter, her arms above her head as flimsy protection. Para was trying to man

 

“ _Kukla, we are stopping this simulation right now_.” Chlo doesn’t wait for ILena’s agreement, she doesn’t have to. Whoever is in the Nest does not drive the cockpit, and is a slave to the commands made and issued from outside. Chlo slammed the pause button down, followed by eject. Rushing to the Nest, the red lights on top blinked and she threw the door open to reach her troupe mate.

 

Chlo watched as ILena ran towards a huge moss rock for cover. Dodging the incoming ice bullets, she duck, sailing into the ground a white blur, sending sprays of mud and rock in her descent. Physically, that would definitely be a terrible sprained ankle and at worst, a broken leg. When ILena had managed to shroud herself behind the big rock did the hale storm stopped, suddenly as it had arrived on the scene.

Before they were able to end the simulation, the landscape brightened, as though the skies had cracked open and the burning gaze of Mars is flaming upon them. Chlo doesn’t wait for the red safety lights to finish blinking as she pulls the door to the Nest open, the hatchet slamming open as she reaches inside to extract ILena.

 

Not hesitating on letting her teammate loose, Chlo yanks on the black buckles, ILena wincing at the red rashes caused by the forceful tugs. She is too wiped out however, to respond to the painful stabs of metal biting onto her flesh and her body shakes, babbling, nonsensical words Standard Language, Russian, other ineligible murmurs drawn out. Words for an experience only felt within the confines of the Nest. The after effects are setting in. The only thing she could do was prevent ILena from looking at herself and inducing even more vigorous physical reactions while Para secured the rest of their gameplay.

 

“That was some terrible weather,” Chlo blurted out as her fingers scrambled to unbuckle the straps. She wasn’t good at providing a distraction.

 

“Waahh,” ILena gurgled, stumbling over her words.

 

“I mean, like the poem we got.”

 

“Poem… ”

 

“Yeah, who knew Para was into that.”

 

“Wait the poem, the cold – “

 

“Yes, winter is very cold. I do not like the snow. Thank heavens I do not live in a country with such dreadful winter weather, I don’t know how we can stand to be here from November to January.”

 

“Cold, that’s what it is – “

 

“And see, most people think snow is pure and beautiful, hiding everything ugly. But they haven’t seen what happens to snow when it melts. No Hallmark gift cards and romance flicks showing any of that disgusting sludge, you know? That we have to clear from the fields in order to start another crop season. It’s not a nice white colour that we think of snow, it’s a weird combination of white, yellow and brown. A lot of dirt mixed it, and it gets on your shoes, your clothes, god forbid if you slip and fall face first on it.”

 

“It’s the weather changing. It will be warm yes.”

 

“Well, we can only wait for the summer months to come back. Summer, swimming, ice cream, lazing about and all that jazz. Although, technically, that’s not our cup of tea.”

 

“No,” ILena mumbled as she grabbed Chlo’s insistent arms that were taking the straps of at the speed of light. “The weather.” Her sentences are punctuated by the pace at which she uttered each word, slurring, liquid language flowing. “The poem.”

 

“What about it?”

 

“I think, I think we go south then? The part about the sun coming in winter. The countries in South, below, they experience winter in the middle of the year.” The veins in her eyes poppy red, the excitement gleaming from bloodshot, from the swift pain coursing through her body. “So it is cold then, but if we go now, it will be warm. Ah, not very hot of course, like beach hot, but warm.” Warm enough for an organisation to plan, boundaries to be set, perimeters to adhere to, grounds that can be monitored, at least on a more manageable scale. The sudden drop in temperatures in her simulation had planted the idea in her head and she wasn’t letting go of the seed.

 

“Right, hush ILena.” Chlo got her straps of as she tugs her out of the Nest. Her body sagged in Chlo’s arms, tired from the sudden loss of little physical support that straps had held on her and Chlo half carried, almost swopping up her legs, treasuring the warmth of their small joker. She placed her on her chair, grabbing another from a nearby station to sit on, holding on to her legs. “You’re fine now, darling.” Chlo winced at the nonsensical sweet greetings pouring out her mouth, but they were meant to be comforting. She did not have much experience with this. When she stayed up all night making sure Junie wasn’t hacking his insides violently onto a pail in Pripyat, she couldn’t do much more than pat his back. Those light taps, not meant to further aggravate his aggressive coughing, were not much solace. Perhaps she needed a course in counselling, to wrap up the first aid lessons.

 

“You think it can be.” ILena gurgled, her head hanging low like a puppet whose strings had been cut and now hung limp, her eyes still pinkish with manic at holding onto a diamond in the rough, not letting go of a sparkling idea.

 

“That’s not a bad exposition to make, ILena.” Para commented in slow voice, a rhythm establishing, an old favoured clock that continued to beat time. Soothing to the ears. Holding himself next to her, he looked at her in the eyes. “That’s great, actually. We at least know it’s in the Southern hemisphere, and that weather conditions are central to the location of the arena, s it is mentioned explicitly in the poem.”

 

She smiled weakly, her lips not opening to reveal her pearly whites.

 

“Good job, girl.” Chlo took a swipe of eater that she stashed under the desk to quench her thirst, Yeona-eonni and Yury’s strict instructions about not bringing food or consumable liquids into the Gaming Centre be damned. She poured some into tissues she grabbed from a packet on the desk and dabbed ILena’s forehead, wiping away the sweat that lined her face and matter her hair. The tissue came away, spotting scarlet.

 

If this is what it takes to get them to find things out, pushing them to their limits, she is not sure she wants to be part of this twisted game.

 

 

_Training Room Y, Jang-won_

 

 

“We’re going south,” Para mentioned. “Deep south, like probably where the summer is still cool.” He turned his head and nodded at ILena, sitting in her chair, her head down, her arms caging her tiny body in. “Wouldn’t have gotten this gem of an idea if not for ILena.”

 

ILena remained quiet without her usual happy go lucky interjections. Whether she was deep in thought over what their next competition would yield, or the experiences of her previous training session, she remained subdued. At the mention of her name, she looked up for the first time during the meeting, shooting Para a faint smile.

 

“Antarctica.”

 

“Nah, I think even that’s too extreme for IGA to handle. Forget the agreements we sign, who’s going to plan a competition in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere.”

 

“So we’re looking at what, somewhere closer to civilisation? Australia, New Zealand?”

 

“South America.” Miya slowly repeated when heads turned to her. She is nothing but precise. “Sasha has said it’s some place high up, where the air is thin the higher we go, and heavier when we descent, causing breath sickness, a light-headedness,” she quoted directly from the invitation.

 

“The area has a lot of neat mountain ranges. The Andes boast some of the most spectacular scenery in the world, or so the National Geographic channel boasts. But there are a few really majestic ranges in the continent, which one are we going to?”

 

“The Torres del Paine National Park.” Yury’s calm order brought them back to the head of the table. “It’s located in Chile. Right at the southern boundary is one of the farthest points in the Southern hemisphere, barring of course, the Antarctic plain. It’s the last of the visible heights in South America.”

 

“The point, it means the mountain, on top of the cliff. I bet we’ll have a challenge there.”

 

“So far up?!”

 

“What, scared of heights?”

 

“Amongst other things, but aren’t we moving to more actual gaming? We can climb digital mountain ranges, scale the tallest electronic skyscrapers, but we’re not certified mountain climbers! Fuck, I’m hardly trained in the first aid course!”

 

“So we won’t send you to represent us when we have to climb to this hypothetical height. We have our profiles and statistics, we know who is the best person fit for the job.” Yury looked ahead. “We aren’t a team if we can’t delegate the work to the correct member, harness each other’s strengths, downplay our weaknesses.”

 

“So, we’re heading to South America.”

 

“Exotic location.”

 

“But the place we are going to isn’t exactly brochure worthy.”

 

“Who cares, another far-flung destination we off to.”

 

“Thank you for helping to solve the riddle,” Yury began, even though his first statement is redundant, as they had to get the answer to know where they would be heading to next. Nevertheless, he wanted them to know that their efforts were not wasted and that they were all involved at arriving at the answer, it is group participation. Spread the member love, because they all needed to be on the same page for this competition that would tell them if they could qualify for the grand championships.

 

“You need to know that the next competition would be tough. Not that it would have escaped your notice, having more rigorous training schedules.” Yury can see from the tired faces in front of him that everyone is feeling the strain. But that meant that they were training, and were in shape competition wise. Physically and mentally. “The games are going to be modelled more in line with what you do, online gaming. Matches in the Nest. That doesn’t mean it would be easier, because you all know how the Nest is, the place where you feel the game the most. Learn to keep your emotions in check, as we have been doing the past few weeks.”

 

They had to learn to compartmentalise their emotions for the sake of the team.

 

“The judges here: the game developers, the markers, federations. It’s a whole mess of people that stand to gain or lose here. We’re all chess pieces in a game we were entice to play, but we’re just the pawns controlled by the unknown chained kings and queens. Players can only lose, go all the way down back to square one. We’re the unlucky ones. Remember that sweetheart the next time you think this is all fun and games.”

 

“Goodness, don’t tell me you’re having your own misery parade.”

 

“Can’t really help it. I mean, it is my own limitations – “

 

“Life is shit, challenges are dickheads, you couldn’t have foreseen – “

 

“And I have come to terms with them.” Michael looked up, letting his head spring up, stretching, sighing as he heard a good relieved audible pop. “I’ve realised the extent of what I physically can do. Of course, all training gives me the opportunities to stretch my abilities, see how far I can go without bending and breaking myself. But I know there is only so far I can go.” He let his head plop back, facing front. “Everyone has limits. I’m learning what I can do. It’s just sometimes, I have doubts. Insecurities. And it’s ok. Sometimes all I need to do is tell myself, it’s hard today, it may not be ok, I will get through it.”

 

Para looked on. “That’s a wonderful theory.”

 

“I know it’s unbelievable to take in – “

 

“No Mikmik!” Para shakes his head, trying to gestures that he did not mean what he literally said, and then stops, as Michael won’t be able to read visual cues. “I meant what I said, I’m not making fun of you. It’s great that you acknowledged your fears.” He steps closer, making his steps heard as he places one arm on Michael’s shoulder. “That day, you were scared. Junie was scared. We all were. And it was a horrifying nightmare. It’s not ok, but we got through it.”

 

“Thank you.” He did not lift up a hand in goodwill. Michael puts his arms down. Lately, they feel like lead, a weight hanging down over him. Mass that could form into a third arm he should not have.

 

“Heh, I’m sorry I unloaded everything on you today. You didn’t ask for a long story, but got one. Let me repay the same kindness, anything going on with you?”

 

Nothing I can really explain to you since I don’t know what it is myself, Michael thinks as he recalls the sudden flash in Pripyat. He has a wild imagination, someone who couldn’t depend on his or her sight would have to.

 

“Nah, nothing but constant training and conditioning.” And everything in between.

 

“I could help you out in something. What don’t you know that you would like to? Oh, languages. You’re taking Korean and Japanese right? One day, I’ll teach you how to say a few words in _Bahasa_. We could start with hello.”

 

“And I’ll teach you how to say it in _Tagalog_. Maybe that’s what you can study next, after your thesis on poetry. Maybe submit it to Oxford?”

 

“Don’t spoil the moment Mikmik by letting me hit you on your behind.”

 

 

_Bedroom D, First Level, Jang-won_

 

 

Michael wanted his last night in Jang-won before they jetted of for the competition to be in motion, doing what is familiar and comforting, doing his dance.

 

“Play the tune of a macabre tale, on the keyboards.”

 

He started the music on his speakers, the instructions bringing forth a soft haunting melody. He is grateful that Yury had the rooms soundproofed, proving one barrier of privacy. Spending all his time day in day out with his troupe mates left Michael craving for a bit space, to preserve his sanity.

 

They had to step on the right keys. One stumble and they could land on the wrong note.

 

He could forget here. The falls in his training, the constant practice of battle simulations, the same formations, exercises that were not done any better than the last. The silences in between classes where no one was around and he is left alone, that made him feel that everyone blamed him for Junie’s current condition.

 

The games are becoming more virtual, immersive. The entire troupe will be booking in more time in the Nest, surrendering their bodies to the invisible claws that will whip them gauzy into the hazy unknown. The competition is gaining speed, each microsecond bringing them closer to the delirious end game.

 

Time to let his dance shine. To spread his wings and let his inner cygnet fly, for they were all still ugly ducklings. If they trained more, danced harder, they could turn into beautiful, regal swans. A bird that can spread the weight of the world equally onto the wings, and take off.

 

Kori can wait.

 

The soft strains of _Adios Nino_ , piano instrumental version, played into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: 
> 
> Thank you for reading this very convoluted story. Comments are appreciated as always.
> 
> Soundtrack
> 
> 1\. Run Boy Run by Woodkid  
> 2\. Stillness of the Mind by Abel Korzeniowski  
> 3\. Raven by Do As Infinity  
> 4\. Halcyon And On And On by Orbital  
> 5\. Lullaby for Cain by Sinead O’Connor  
> 6\. Superman’s Dead by Our Lady Peace  
> 7\. Enigmatism by Mike Oldfield   
> 8\. Do You Crash by Bonnie Pink


	9. Chapter 8 - The Inverted Mountain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One world is not enough for humans. So we made more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: I’ve restructured how I write. The chapters will be shorter, as I don’t want to bog down the story with unnecessary description and focus more on characterisation. I may take a longer time to post each chapter. Enjoy.

_Torres del Paine, Chile, South America_

 

 

It is a frigid evening that left much to be decided. While the weather in the Ukraine was nothing short of the exact opposite of sunny and inviting, the trip to the Southern most tip of the earth wasn’t exactly comforting, even when it is approaching the height of its summer.

 

“We’re going to have to get used to it.” Chlo quips as she held onto her haversack, the slant of her hair now coloured a navy blue with pastel tips covering half of her face in shadows. She fancies herself a hooded figure in fantasy computer games. “The training, travelling, competing. With eating and sleeping thrown sporadically in. Wash, rinse, repeat.”

 

“That doesn’t sound like too bad a life.” Para walked beside her. “We are getting paid to do this, to do what we love.”

 

Chlo didn’t respond to her friend’s statement and chose to continue the rest of her journey without speaking.

 

The plane to Arturo Merino Benítez International Airport and then catching the connecting flight to the regional airport had been smooth going. Now came the bumpy ride to the inner greater countryside that is Campos de Hielo sur. Everyone had seen enough countryside to last their lifetime, living in the middle of wilderness that is Jang-won, and currently stationing themselves in one in Inner Universe. It still did not lessen the wonder of cruising the Chilean tundra, the skies at its most water colour crystalline blue, and the grounds granite and ice weaved that paved into snow sandy mountains shrouded in stew mists in the distance.

 

During the bus ride, Michael tries to engage Miya in conversation. She strikes him as the one with the most sense in the troupe, barring perhaps Yeona-ateh. But Yeona, no matter how pivotal a role she plays in his life and he thinks will likely continue to do so, is unapproachable. There is always a cold tinge under her scolding laughter, a halt at the end of her sentences that leaves a hole, warning others not to build a bridge to cross over. He isn’t quite sure where the lines are, and after the music selection for his dance practice debacle, he isn’t any closer to figuring out the boundaries. Miya is silent, but as a functioning member of the team, it required her to communicate directly with her teammates. Yury is always nattering about forming solid friendships built on more than just common shared interests in completing game tasks, this is one way to do so.

 

She might be the best one to talk to about his sudden flashes of sight. He swore if he titled his head slightly to the left, he might see some blues and greys, mixed with light peaches and cream. Or that would be just wishful thinking, picturing in his mind from what the scrolls in the library had described their latest competition arena to look like.

 

“Do you think it could be like retroactive amnesia? Like you could be slowly gaining your sight back?”

 

“If that were the case, I would be able to actually see, like get more flashes. It was just that one time.” Stay away from false hope, he did not want to be buoyed by useless fantasies that can only bear fruit in his dreams. He had been told that the damage to his eyes was irreparable, and he had more or less adjusted his life around his abilities. Everyone else who chose to be close and stick by him had had to accommodate to him. It would be cruel to take away this sacrifice, it would be all for naught.

 

“Don’t worry.” Miya continues to face the window, reaching out to pat Michael’s arm in icy reassurance. This is an interest project to undertake. “I will keep looking out. I’ll let you know if I find anything.”

 

Michael nodded at Miya in thanks that he would be kept posted and that she would keep this on the down low. He did not want to appear even more handicapped then he is to the others. They should not be overtaxed by some illustrious illusions. He ought to inform Yury, the most knowledgeable one about, well, most matters, but he seemed preoccupied, contending with all issues about training and competition. He didn’t need to be bothered about little things like Michael’s supposed brief dances into vision.

 

The bus ride goes on for another twenty odd minutes before their rented transportation pulls into campgrounds.

 

“Fuck yeah, hostels.” Para muttered under his breath as he looks out at the friendly looking red brick buildings that resemble a quaint picturesque presentation, an attempt at a rustic life with all the modern conveniences attached. He was not looking forward to more camping in radioactive protection suits, so the sight of proper facilities cheered him up immensely. Squat violet buildings no more than three storeys high were lined up in front, with a few more formal imposing tents. These were probably the official competition headquarters, containing the main game reporting centre and the communal eating hall.

 

The troupe proceeds to exit the van and assemble at the entrance to commence checkpoint and security routines. The same stringent procedures like those in Ukraine occurred, head to toe screening and contraband items confiscated. After a solid half hour, they emerge with their room numbers handed to them when they had passed security and could head up to their temporary homes.

 

“Oh, look at that!”

 

He heard many such deities about the spiritually revitalising scenery that surrounded him, the other participants and organisation personnel buzzing about their beautiful arena. The lush mountains bathing in pearl gauze, sharp points jutting out of the low rolling clouds, green valleys falling into still lakes.

 

An arena is still an arena.

 

“It’s beautiful, Mikmik, it really is. I wish you could see it.” ILena proclaims without a moment’s hesitation. She truly believed in the wonders of the sight before her, a spectacle that could lead her soul to spiritual ascension, and she wanted to share this with Michael. She isn’t being mean, rather that the sights of nature should be loved and shared with others.

 

“I can feel it, Lena,” he unfolded his fingers and twinned them with hers, the shortened version of her name in line with her awe. “It’s in the air, in the wind. I know it must be great.” If he didn’t feel its majesty, he can at least pretend to ILena, who was always so joyful, that she is here with people she considers friends, doing competitions, just even having made it to far away destinations, travelling and seeing the wonders of the world.

 

~.~

 

Staying in proper lodgings made participants happy campers, and less competitive in non-competition times. But even the most beautiful comforts had a hidden twist to them. Inside the idyllic hostels, their short-term accommodations contained pods, stacked on top of one another like spaceship beddings. There is an air of privacy, tombing oneself in a jail cell, but it was little bigger than a cleaning supplies closet. It is a white coffin that one could perish in and the neighbours not hearing a word about it until a suspicious smell became too overpowering.

 

The troupe is free to mingle with other troupe members during meal times. Dinner in the hall is bustling with activity, although troupes mostly sat together, there were quite a number that chose to interact with each other, little parcels of participants sitting together while indulging in the food provided.

 

While Yeona-eonni and Yury off in conversation with an Eastern European judge, Junie and ILena conversing with someone about the benefits of neuro-technology, the latest advancement in games, and Michael dithering about with his food, Chlo sits down, mashing her food into tiny bits. She appears to be doing an excellent job, squishing the beet spices into the brown rice. She should eat her food properly as she probably would not be eating the local fare much after this competition.

 

“You can feel it, can’t you.” Desperation is mired in her voice. She does not want to be the only one inside an asylum looking in. “Whatever you do, you really are doing. It’s not just a game. It’s you, who is making the manoeuvres, the transformations, the deals.” She gasps, a break in her tirade. “It is you, whose hand kills.”

 

Para steadily chops his chicken leg into neat cube pieces before popping each piece into his mouth. He will not waste good food. Who knows when will their last meal be?

 

He should not be so overly dramatic. Of course they will be fed. It is against the law to intentionally deprive people of nutrients.

 

“That’s one way of looking at it.”

 

“Dress it up however you want, it is real.”

 

“Listen, we’re all in this together.”

 

“How fuckin’ inappropriate. Quoting cheesy lyrics at me now. Are we going to sit in a circle holding hands around the campfire and sing fuckin’ _Kumbaya_ now?”

 

“That means every one of us counts, matters.” Para looked at her in the eye. “Whether we like it or not. We have a job to do. If you don’t like it and prefer to shine by yourself, go play one of those point-and-shoot games. You can be the hero in your narrative until the cows come home.”

 

“That’s not what I’m talking about, Para, and you know it. Don’t twist my words.” Especially not you, she screamed in her head. That is the only place she can air her grievances.

 

“No.” A bitter smile crumpled his face. “But what I said stands. We need everybody to be on board, to be insane enough to enjoy this one-way ticket to mad hell.”

 

“I see you’re already half-way there.”

 

“Jesus, Chlo, find other people to share your theories with, won’t you.”

 

“What do you know, maybe I will.” She could find like-minded people in their lodgings. Participants were more willing to let loose a few secrets. There is a lot more to be said in what they left out, then what is actually dropped in casual conversations.

 

They continue to eat their good in relative peace, the noise of the hall drowning out any attempts at conversation. Chlo wished that was enough to block out her thoughts, a blank white fuzz covering her ear drums.

 

~.~

 

They stood with the other troupes for the drawing of lots ceremony. The organization in charger, the Southern Skates, had done their best to make sure their event was more elaborate. For this competition, the ceremony is held in a proper marquee tent. A separate cut off section for distinguished guests, judges and potential investors is cordoned of in the back to watch the proceedings. Para would not be surprised if there is a red carpet somewhere for officials to enter and parade around their enthusiasm. They enjoyed partaking in riches that made them feel part of the game without being in the competition.

 

Miya walked ahead to take the envelopes that would read of their match ups as the rest of the troupe stood at the back. Junie helped himself to the deserts, not caring that the catered food was reserved for the judges.

 

As usual, it is great to hear the general commentary around the tent.

 

“You think anyone is going to die this time round?

 

“Oh hush! Don’t spread that shitty news around, it could be contagious! Besides, I heard the guy was suicidal, decided to blow himself in competition. Silly, if you ask me.”

 

“I bet one of the participants killed him.”

 

“Ain’t no proof of that.”

 

“You know the American team isn’t here to compete?”

 

“Why should they, they won’t the Championships last year! They’re in the gold, they don’t have to keep competing each year. Besides, I heard that they had issues with some members, not pulling their weight.”

 

“Doesn’t matter if we don’t have the defending winners, or other lesser groups fall out, there’s always someone waiting to move up the ranking list, grab a spot in the qualification rounds.”

 

“Maybe they’re afraid.”

 

“Man, fear is what we thrive on.”

 

“Heh, don’t you know. They’ll let anyone compete, as long as it’s exciting.”

 

“Whatever gets the viewers.”

 

They don’t stick around to hear the tail end of the conversation, rushing back to get more training time in the computer lab.

 

~.~

 

Reporting to their game station, they are faced with the view of the splendid mountains. White mist coiled around the cornices of the mountaintops, brining the cold rolling down to the dense tundra. The waters from the lake below, the waves weeping at the sandy and mossy shore, praying to a misty legend that is retold and mutilated in each telling.

 

Miya is here to listen to the adaptation that would serve as the backbone of their challenge. Being partnered with Para, they stand in front of the Game Master, a wizened short lady with skin leathered in crumbled patches and a shock of white hair spooling down her back in a long gray braid. Even with the crows’ feet tailing the corner of her eyelids, it is her tale that she weaves that makes her stand tall.

 

“Long ago, there was a giant serpent, Cai Cai, who terrorised the tribes that lived at the base of the mountain. To scare it away, warriors from the tribe trapped it in the lake. Before Cai Cai was completely submerged in the moutain, it took two of the greatest warriors from the tribe. Local lore states that these twin mounts are the stone remains of the warriors that defeated Cai Cai.” She paused in her reading, her head facing the mountain. “Every summer, the tribe makes an offering to appease the mountain gods, for they grow hungry and cold. Your task is to find a snake, and make an offering at the foot of the mountain.”

 

Miya nodded. This shouldn’t be too difficult. Their area is the wilderness.

 

“We’ll need to find this snake then. I hope your orienteering skills are top notch,” she tells Para.

 

Trudging through the trail, they had to head to the grassy forest to see hide or tail of a creature hiding in the grass. They had general nature on their side, the long days that stretched against one another would ensure that there would be enough daylight for them to scout around and complete their mission. Although it was summer though, they were not used to this weather that did not welcome heat, rather the cold that swooned and wrapped around their bodies, laying in their bones like a friend that outstayed its welcome. The frigid wind blowing from the Antarctic is a constant reminder of where they are, even with the sun blazing its trails in the chilly desert.

 

After a few hours of tracking the terrain, they could not any reptiles, let alone snakes. They would have to change their course of action.

 

“We can’t find the snakes, even though we followed everything we know about their habits to a T.” Para cried out in frustration.

 

Miya brushes a loose strand of hair back behind her ear. She’ll cut the disobedient stray away later. “Or, we could catch one online.”

 

“Use the game to find a snake?”

 

She folds the crude paper they had drawn on to mark out boundaries they had tracked. “They are probably expecting us to do so.”

 

“We’ll hook it up for the computer labs. There’s no rule against using the computers there, only which we stick to the boundaries of the national park for this task.”

 

It takes another hour or so to make it from the forest back to the flats. The sun is at its highest point, signally midday from the time they had started. Miya and Para walk towards the computer lab, their feet dragging on the trail in heavy hiking boots.

 

“It could be in the water. As the legend goes, the lake is where the earth split, and the gods roared out of the chasm. The lake symbolises the coming of something imminent. Perhaps we’ll find what we are looking for.”

 

“We’ll have to use the Nest. Dig deeper underground. I know how to swim.”

 

“You’re going in?”

 

“Yes, Para.” The affirmative answer brought an end to their discussion on who would be venturing in the Nest.

 

“Heh, at least we would be warm inside the labs. None of this Arctic freeze.”

 

Miya isn’t so sure about that, being the one that goes into the Nest.

 

They got into the computer lab, grabbing a spare station in the corner. A few troupes littered the room, probably having the same idea as they did. Her nimble figure can weave in and out of the weeds.

 

_TinyQueen is signed on._

 

As soon as she is logged on, Miya crouches, waiting for Para’s further instruction. It is cold in here, just like the temperature outside. She is grateful her cat suit is heat proof. The crunching of gravel and greenery underfoot alerts her to surroundings that she has just escaped from.

 

“It’s kind of like the forest we came from.” Para confirms her suspicions. She is stepping on crabgrass and weeds.

 

“We need to get to the water.” She reported as Para fixed up the directions for Miya to make her way to the nearest natural water source. He informs her of the general directions, noting down possible traps and obstacles such as stumbling pebbles and bare trees. Her feet crunches on gravel, until it turns into granite rock.

 

“Right, you’re reaching the lake.”

 

Time to go under.

 

Running up against the wall, she somersaulted into the air and landed crouching on all fours. She had dived into the water, a long bubbly swath on screen amidst the midnight blue. Reaching the surface, she held out her arms and pushed back and forth, threading water. “You need to tell me, station me,” TinyQueen said. She had to situate herself in the water, the water coming up to about waist level.

 

“Right, try to hold onto the rocks as much as you can for leverage. It’s quite shallow at the edges, than drops of to eight feet about six metres ahead.”

 

Her feet feel heavy, lunged down by the hiking boots. She could not afford to go barefoot where probable poisonous creatures lurked beneath and would not wish to be disturbed.

 

“I detect movement on the ground.” Para sounded as he electronically scanned the area for living organisms, the radioactive rainbow colours on his screen denoting the different life forms in the water. “3 o’clock, about 45 degrees down, on the ground. Might be our creature.”

 

Miya dove into the waters head first after taking a deep breath. It was a bit off to mime swimming in the Nest, from threading waters to pulling her hands down and legs up in a weird frog breathe stroke. Her hands reach out, fingers curling in to dig out sand.

 

The prick of a tooth presses against her arm and she nudges her arm back.

 

 _“Careful there,”_ Jie Yee drawls out as she draws it to her face, and smudges away the ruby, trails salting the water.

 

Without missing a beat, she dives back in, this time sticking to the edge of the rocky shore. She lets her fingers do the talking, crawling crooks and crannies of the sandy coral-like growth, seeking out her treasure. If she goes closer to bait, she would be able to hook a line.

 

She moves down, the slimy coil slipping out of her hands.

 

Grasping by its body, she rises up, her head pooling the water broken. She smiled, her hands holding out a black slimy rope. “I think we’ve caught ourselves a water viper.”

 

~.~

 

“Did you know that water snakes are some of the hardiest creatures? They can burrow themselves in the sand … “

 

 

The strains of conversation go in one ear and out the other for the troupe. The more important detail is the use of the computer system to actually fulfil their challenge.

 

 

“And it was quite cold in the Nest, wasn’t it, Miya?” Para cajoled as he headed the short summary brief to his group.

 

 

“What? You could seriously feel the breeze?  


 

“Well, we can feel sparks. Remember the volcano from the simulation two months ago? You could almost breathe in the ash in the air. I felt the fur and scales of the komodo dragon and rabbits we hunted down about a year back.” Chomping on his food, Para waved his fork in the air. “I’m not surprised they set the temperature according to the climate around us.”

 

 

“Makes it more authentic.” Yury quipped.

 

 

Michael comforts himself being surrounded by a beauty he does not see with people that he is starting to trust. It’s backwards, gaming together before they really formed their bonds and forged their friendship through fire and brimstone, but they were thrown together, though not hastily. They would have to make do with what they had and stumble along the way, learning from any catastrophic mistakes.

 

Feasting on the dinner, he shook his hands, the woven bracelets imprinting intricate patterns on his wrist. ILena had bought them a roadside stall near the bus terminal before boarding the van to the national park. She was informed that it is supposed to bring good luck. He hoped that these pieces of wool threads would be able to keep bad energy away from them all.

 

They needed it.

 

~.~

 

A three-member match up. Rare, but not uncommon, as Yury had described, when they received their pre-round instructions during the lots ceremony. ILena, Chlo and Michael were chosen to represent _Lark Ascending_ for this round, and represent them to the very best they shall.

 

When they approached the computer lab at what Chlo impolitely stated was at the arse crack of dawn, they knew that much of their match would involve gaming, which they were very much looking forward to.

 

“I’m going into the Nest.”

 

“Err, I can do it, ILena.”

 

“No, no, I’m better at climbing and twisting. You have to guide me into position.” Chlo couldn’t argue with ILena’s truthful assessment.

 

“But – “

 

“No buts! Do you not trust me?”

 

She rushed forward to the Nest without hearing any more rebuttals. She had hit Chlo sqaure in the face, acknowledging Chlo’s possible doubt of her worth as her teammate. Michael wondered if he should just skip along and put himself in the Nest to call it a truce, but they had to work things out. If ILena felt confident, he had to trust that she said what she meant.

 

ILena had put herself in the Nest while Chlo held onto the statistics, and Michael would have to handle communications. Chlo pursed her lips as they booted the main gameframe, clearly unhappy about this arrangement.

 

They are a team.

 

_Kukla is signed on._

 

“Your challenge is to find the rocks at the bottom of the lake and form a pattern.” The electronic voice read out.

 

Plotting a design on a map is the easy part. Now they had to take their vision and create it on the water, tracing folded icicles onto clear crystalline waters. With that in mind, Michael would have to figure out the pattern, Chlo would have to trace said pattern on the board and ILena would be in the Nest, in the lake, scavenging for the rocks that had the inscription.

 

Chlo navigates their location on the map and tells ILena the conditions of the place. ILena will have to travel to a lake from where she is currently located. As she makes her way, trudging through a field, Michael informs her navigation, avoiding other participants.

 

Chlo told ILena where the coordinates were that corresponded to the map that she had drawn out. She prepared to dive in, and held her breath. Once she is able to gather the rocks, they can start analysing and forming the required pattern.

 

Even in the Nest, she felt like she is sweeping at the bottom of the lake.

 

ILena held onto the cable. On screen, she is perched against the rocky side, her limbs getting cold in the icy water. She could feel the goose bumps in the warm shell of the Nest. She slips in, legs first, testing the waters, before sliding fully in, the water encompassing her slim body.

 

Before can take another deep lungful of air, her heads goes underwater, dropped by a heavy human weight.

 

“ _ILENA_!” Chlo’s scream could be heard a mile away. Michael winced as the words screeched into his earpiece. He had to wait for the manual electronic voice to narrate the sequence of events, and the few seconds before the instruction are punctured by the sounds of water splashing violently and Chlo belligerently shouting out orders to a desperate ILena.

 

“ _ILena, swim under! Duck!”_

 

She drove her body under water, trying to get away from the person attempting to splat her head first into the murky depths. The person is of slight build, but had muscled arms that could propel her head down like a stubborn beach ball. She tries to get away from him, swimming away to avoid his or her ministrations, but he or she is fast and only sought to pull her arms down, sink her like a fleshy weed.

 

“That’s it, I’m going in!” Defence is not helping their team mate; they will have to go on the offense.

 

“Chlo, no.” She’s much too frantic to be able to give her attention on something that required a lot of detail to extract. “I”ll go,” Michael said, already out of his seat.

 

“What?!”

 

“Look, I can sniff it out, find it. I’m a tracker.” He must step up to the plate and do his job.

 

“If this is in any way you fuckin’ insinuating the fact that I should stay fridged just because I’m a girl – “

 

“No, no, not at all, Chlo. That did not cross my mind at all. We need you to man the fort, check our supplies. It’s a crucial thing, it’s your area of expertise.” They could not afford to lose Chlo shouting out their directions.

 

Chlo waited a second or two, shooting daggers in her eyes before she grabbed Michael’s arm in the direction of the Nest stations. “This better work,” she muttered. She could be a team player. After strapping Michael into a spare pod, she dashes back to her station, watching out for the familiar signature on the main screen. She would rather be a team player than appear like a righteous weak link.

 

_Firefrost has signed on._

 

Right, now that he is inside, he has to live up to his words. No going back now. That’s the great thing about grandly verbalising your actions, that you had to stick it out ad follow through. This should be a cakewalk.

 

Baby steps, Michael begins, testing out his boundaries. All Nests feel different, even if the mechanisms were theoretically the same, manufactured and built by the same company. Or so Yury had taught in their lessons. He pushed his arms and feet out, imitating a slow moonwalk. When nothing major hits him, he asks for Chlo’s commands.

 

Taking the bag at the side, he pushes it away from the rocky shore, away from other intruding arms.

 

“ _Right, take them out of the satchel_.”

 

One by one, Michael does as he is told, placing the rocks face up so that Chlo could take a look at the engravings of each individual rock. “ _Faster, Mikmik!”_ The shouts to push him forward, to quicken his speed, left him fumbling for the rocks, trying to paint the message of hope.

 

He lays them out quickly for Chlo. He reaches into the satchel to dig out the last of the rocks, bringing them up to the opening of the bag when his palm comes into contact with a jagged edge. Dropping the rock onto his leg, he could feel the tips of his toes popping red posies. “Shit,” he muttered, his hands going down to his knees to feel the scalding pain that dotted his feet. He let his hands fly, flapping the ground, scurrying for the rock that he had dropped. His fingers dust a mossy back and he flipped the rock towards him, standing up to put it square in the hole. He had the remainder of the rocks, now he had to configure them into a pattern.

 

_“Alright, I’ve screened and analysed, it’s the Hiragana script. Got to put in a certain order. I’ll shout, you put the lay out!”_

 

For the next few minutes, Michael intensively listened to Chlo as he placed each rock in neat lines, listening for which ones she called out. His hands move in tandem, plucking one rock after another in neat lines, in a script that he remembered tracing on paper. Tracing the edges and bolts of the carvings, he focuses on setting the trail of characters that flow from one line to another, as he spent many hours in between classes memorising. It is hard to learn a language without seeing the beautiful script, much of the edges and curls were sketched onto his memory by touch.

 

He couldn’t reach ILena, although he longed to go back and grab her. Before he could let his thoughts finish, he felt someone come up beside him.

 

“It’s me,” ILena breathed into his ear. “You do what Chlo tells you to do, and I’ll shield you.”

 

Ghoulish grunts and scalding screams were heard as he arranged the rocks under Chlo’s guidance. He tried to block out what is happening behind him, the sounds mixed with ILena’s high squeaks. He laid out the last rock with a resounding slap.

 

“And that is the entire Hiragana scripture on the board. _Lark Ascending_ has completed its round.”

 

Michael did not wait to hear the announcer and the results before he was held back by Para clutching the back of shirt, preventing him from hurling himself to his shallow watery grave. If it were not for Para, he would have tumbled over the ledge.

 

It is Yeona who saves the day, or she is seen to be. Unstrapping ILena from the spider’s Nest, she helps the shocked and blistered girl out of the cell, half carrying her out. Clutching ILena’s back, she wraps her arms around her, a halo saving her mice. “It’s ok,” she whispers to her head, patting her forehead, waving back her doused hair flamed into a wet spiral down her back, her own clothes bleeding wet. “You’re here, you’re safe now.” She reminds a rocking ILena, going back and forth, sending them into a seasick rhythm.

 

Chlo remains silent at Mikmik’s side, unbuckling his straps as soon as the words that they had completed the task were heard on her earpiece. She did not think they were close to death until they almost were.

 

How deftly they flirt on the precipice.

 

~.~

 

The troupe returns to a normal competition routine. Chlo, ILena and Michael are debriefed after a trip to the medic station to ensure that nothing is wrong. With the exception of a few scrapes and a gash on her forehead, ILena is miraculously, or dangerously, pronounced healthy as soon as a cloth a little more than a bandage is wrapped around her head. She is declared fit for active duty and is discharged, all three sent back to their rooms to give Yury an after match report.

 

Some scars cannot be seen.

 

Michael follows his teammates to the dining hall after giving Yury a short version of what happened. He had witnessed most of what they did, rather what they did not do. They now look forward to not being famish, taking their food from the buffet style counter and sitting with the rest of _Lark Ascending_ , eating their food in silence. The rest of their teammates do not choose to engage them in conversation, sensing that they were not up for much chitchat and chose to talk amongst themselves. They had probably seen what happened, from all the leaked videos. He wonders what is to be done to the participant that tried to ki-drown ILena. Yury only informs him that ILena is technically not harmed, and cannot be harmed in a visually simulated environment.

 

Everything is within the fine rules of what is real and what isn’t.

 

Chlo scrunched her shoulders in, not looking up from her food, as though she wanted no invisible particles to settle on her. ILena picked at her bowl, for once not talking up a storm. Michael scarfed down his food, almost chocking himself in the process.

 

After their meal, they make their way back to their rooms for some much needed rest and relaxation. Michael is about to wash up and plop face first onto his mattress when he feels a tug on his sleeve.

 

“Can I like, talk to you. Just for a second.”

 

He’s not sure if he wants to talk now, or if Junie could say anything he didn’t already know. He decides to take a gamble and follow him to his bunk, hearing what he has to say. It’s just a few words, Michael thought. And then I can journey into slumber land.

 

He waited in the quiet. He had all of it to give, the silence, when his voice could not fill the pages of apologies.

 

“I just want to say. Like, good job. Listen, it’s about what you did. You solve it in time. Before everything could go to shit.” Shaking his head rapidly like a windup bird about to take off from the cuckoo clock, eager to explore away from its wooden cage. “It was fast thinking, letting everyone do what they do best. Not everyone can make a quick judgement in that hectic of a situation. Technically, everything did go to shit, with ILena almost dying, and Chlo halfway to convulsing, but I think we’ve got to get used to it, eh, almost dying.”

 

Letting the morbid conclusions sink in, Michael took what he could get.

 

“Look, what I wanted to say is.” His sentence stopped, and Michael had to strain to hear the gap in between. He almost lunges himself forward, a string pulled taut at the suspense.

 

“Hello.”

 

Hello to a fresh start. Hellos he can do. It is better than goodbyes.

 

“Hello.”

 

A bright smile on his face is also reassuring and calming.

 

“Hey, how come you know that script, the one that you had to figure out?”

 

“Oh, I am learning Japanese.” If Michael had to learn a language as his teachers dictated, he would at least have the freedom to choose what he studied. He wanted something that was as furthest away from his own speech to pick up new literacy skills, which meant choosing a language that was written in a completely different script. “I’m still at the elementary stage though.”

 

“Wicked.”

 

Michael let the corners of his lips tug into a familiar smile. They can start at the beginning again.

 

~.~

 

Yury had not wanted him to go, but if his last match had taught him anything, it was to trust in their abilities. He went ahead, partly to show that he could handle the luck of the draw, the other half a sick anticipation at what he would encounter. Michael wondered what is the percentage that he believed in his abilities. A boy without his senses running amok in the Nest, against other competitors.

 

He arrived at the computer lab without much hubbub, having been there battling in the previous match. It’s the last match of the competition, the points from all three matches would be added up and tallied, and then they will know which teams would have qualified for the grand championships.

 

He’s got this.

 

He got to his assigned station and logged on without much fanfare. Miya comes with him to assist in strapping into the Nest. “Good luck,” she states as he is buckled in. As soon as he is suited up, he hears the announcement saying that the match would commence in a minute’s time. He takes a deep breath, trying to reach an inner peace that he hopes is still left, even after the thrashing it took the day before. Before he knows it, he feels the air change, a cold breeze not unlike the national park they are currently situated in.

 

_Firefrost is signed in._

 

He placed one foot forward, and when it was not set on fire, he placed another step in. He started to walk, his arms lifted up to feel the surroundings. Stone squares to his left. He paced a few feet sideways and is met with the same result. His feet almost slip from beneath him, gliding across the cracked ground of ice and vine.

 

The voice narration came on. Room temperature, steady wind. The time of the day doesn’t matter to someone who does not tell time by light. The important information to note is that walls surround him. An elaborate entrapment. A labyrinth? Moving compartments?

 

A maze.

 

The walls were closing in. Conquering any fear of claustrophobia was done so in the training simulations that Yury had designed for them. In the midst of making his way around the maze, he had to look out for number 16, his match up. He is in a ticking time bomb, walls that could shift at will, someone’s bidding.

 

He runs, legs going back and forth as he blindly turns corners, looking for shelter. He pushes his legs wide so as not to trip on his own two feet.

 

“There you are.”

 

Turning his head to the proclamation, he faces his entire body in the direction of the voice, not leaving his back vulnerable.

 

“I’ve been looking for you.”

 

He guesses he has been looking for his opponent too.

 

“I knew it was you.”

 

“I guess we should like, sort of fight?” That is the point of a match, except Michael isn’t sure what exactly he’s supposed to do. The instructions narrated to him at the start of the challenge were vague. Much of what they did was obscure, no matter how detailed the scenery, the actual gameframe is.

 

Something sharp presses against Michael’s arm.

 

A line, scarlet, trickles down.

 

“Blood for blood,” she whispered. “Your blood, the blood of the one he loves.”

 

Michael lets out a short shout and steps back, wincing as he holds his arm against his chest. There is no wound, but he can feel the metallic sensation of a knife piercing into his skin.

 

Everyone talks in riddles during the competition. If he could see, there would be speech bubbles with different emotions, symbols instead of words or characters ballooning out of people’s mouths.

 

“I’ve, I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.” Michael gasps as he wolves around, a hand on the wall. The pain is elastic, not real, yet he can feel it stretch and cover his entire being.

 

“You know.” Her voice whispers, soft yet daunting.

 

“Love? Listen, I don’t love anyone, not like romantic love. I don’t love anyone that you may know.” At least he is sure about that. He doesn’t know her, she doesn’t know him, they can’t possibly love or be loved by the same person. Is this part of the challenge, giving something that he doesn’t know he is in possession of. Sniff around, poking each other, trying to find a weakness. A means to an end.

 

“You have it.”

 

“I’m afraid I don’t.” He shrugs his shoulders. He’s not going to get flustered at something he doesn’t know and cannot answer for. “I think you’ve mistaken me for someone else.” Although how many other participants in this particular competition would be his doppelganger he isn’t sure.

 

“There’s no mistake about it.”

 

He isn’t getting through to her. Is he supposed to? Maybe this is the challenge, run and dodge. Except he had to face his opponent as well as the volatile environment they are in.

 

“The closest thing to love that he could possibly get. I need it. It’s all I have left.” Desperation coloured her tone. “I need to have it.”

 

“I can’t give you what I don’t have.” And even if he had, he didn’t want something that he could not reciprocate. It is a burden to be the centre of unrequited affections.

 

“Why?”

 

Playing along to this insane triangle that he is not aware he is involved in. “Because I don’t know what you’re even talking about!” Michael sighed, taking in deep breaths. Getting frustrated over something that he has no clue over isn’t good for blood pressure, nor is it any better in this high tension situation. “Listen, let’s get out of here. We’ll get out of the arena, finish this round, then settle down and discuss whatever it is you want.” Michael is not going let someone else get hurt on his watch, even if it is someone that is trying to him through harming herself.

 

“I can’t.”

 

“What do you mean you can’t?” They had to make their way before this maze self-combusts on them. He could feel the walls start to shift again, imprisoning them. They had to stay and fight, and if no battle is taking place, the arena would not waste resources on any useless occupants.

 

“I have to stay here, I have to complete the task.”

 

“Ok then. Let’s fight.” He couches down, bracing for a fight. The blood stains his arm, stains his clothes red.

 

“Not with you.”

 

He raises his brow at her, at least he hopes it is in her direction. “I know I can’t see, but that’s not the point here. I can still fight.”

 

“No.”

 

“No? So you forfeit?” He’s not sure of the protocol for conceding defeat.

 

“No!”

 

“No?”

 

“I’m not 16!”

 

“Well, for what it’s worth, neither am I?” Age is a number, and all participants have to be of age before they can enter the competition. Michael knows, with all the strict checks they have to undergone before entering the competition grounds.

 

“No, I mean.” She sighs, gathering the courage to build up to something big. Unfortunately, there isn’t anything that could be much worse than being buried alive. “I’m not your match up number.”

 

Michael blinked. “So we’re supposed to be fighting someone else, and not each other.”

 

“I traded with someone else, so that I could come close to you.”

 

He’s caught in a weird Gregorian knot of sorts where he did not hold on to an end to make the knot. “To take back a love I have.”

 

A sharp nod of the head. “Yes.”

 

“Did you find what you are looking for?” He isn’t able to give her what she asked for.

 

She sighs. It’s wistful, it’s the stuff dashed hopes and dreams are made of. “Not even close.”

 

“I’m sorry I could not accommodate.” He tries to put a question to the end of his sentence, to highlight the absurdity of the request.

 

She doesn’t know why he should feel sorry for her. She doesn’t like charity, she will not accept his pity. “You’re a strange one.”

 

He smiles at her non-sequitur answer. “Look who’s talking. You ran around, trying to seek me out around this maze. Wait a minute, how did you manage it? Did you steal the ID? That means someone couldn’t get into the game. You need your ID!”

 

“I left mine to the participant I lifted from. He or she can still gain access to the arena, is free to choose to use it.” What is taken, there must be something left in return, including their important ID tags. Small round buttons that were left for the taking, easily lost. She’s sure the IGA has other methods of tracking their competitors, so participants could exploit this weakness. There are many things he doesn’t know, has yet to uncover. She needed this more than his unknown match up. “This task is where I get what I need.”

 

“We could have done this somewhere much quieter and less prone to disaster. You didn’t have to go through all this trouble.” His hands remained raised, vigilant. She is a girl of knives and thorns. “You could have approached me, perhaps outside of the match, and hashed it out somehow.”

 

“How?” Genuine curiosity seeps in her voice.

 

“Er, we could hash it out. Talk, have a chat.” Have a cup of pumpkin tea, figure things out under less strenuous circumstances.

 

“I’ll die if I don’t.”

 

“If I don’t give it to you?” Michael is worried he is missing a lot of crucial information. Did he not listen to the instructions at the start of the challenge properly. “That’s a joke right? You can’t die from something you weren’t sure existed, let alone be given to you” Many funny things are told to him. He does not find this one particularly humourous.

 

“It’s not.” A turn around, a turn towards him. Her voice becomes louder, clearer, sterner. She wants to cut herself open into scalding scars. “I bet my life for it.”

 

“But I don’t have it!” The proverbial it, something he did not know, is becoming something he ought to know. Something huge, a weight in the far recesses of his mind that he never looked because he didn’t know it existed, is now threatening to emerge, massive and anonymous. Because he still doesn’t know and cannot lay claim to it. “And you shouldn’t be hinging everything on a gamble. There should be other things in your life to live for.”

 

He only hears a disdainful sniff in reply. He doesn’t answer, not wanting to presume more about something he doesn’t know a single wit about, even if he just did. There is more to life than a game, this game.

 

“If you can’t give it to me, I’ll.”

 

“You’ll what?”

 

“Stay here.”

 

“You can’t just stay here.” No one stays in the Nest for an indefinite amount of time. It is powered by energy, and eventually, like all contained kinetic energy, it runs out. Michael is not sure what happens if someone is still inside when the power is switch off. Yury was always careful to keep the Nest constantly running when they were training in the game centre, Chlo alert to never letting the energy levels run low.

 

“It is what it is.”

 

“No, it is not!” Michael takes a leap of faith without much thought, and grabs her arm, not waiting for his flesh to be splintered by her scissor hands.

 

“Come on!” His grip on her arm tightens, even when blood start to run holy trinity down his sleeves.

 

“What are you doing?!” Her whistle whispers turn into scratchy shrieks.

 

“We’re getting out of here.” He did not want to remain in the Universe when he could get out of the opening. He is not going to live an unknown future.

 

“Let me go!”

 

“No, we’re both getting out of here.” Together.

 

Michael turns and pushes his unlikely companion in front to guide them. With the sudden burst of magnetic energy from him, she is left with no choice but to follow his prompting.

 

The walls were shifting again, creating new stairways that bled into each other and drop holes that rounded up swings from the ceiling. His shoulders burn, worn out by the walls he push past, his legs scrapping against the icy jagged exterior.  He carves lines on the stony road, smoothened clear by his companion ahead. His breath though comes out in cool puffs, cold cotton candy hanging in the air, his cane tapping as he knocks down more cold stones.

 

She suddenly comes to a stop and he holds out his hand, pushing his cane down to halt.

 

“It’s a dead end.”

 

He reaches his hand, only to pull it back from the frozen numb. A solid wall of ice towers before them, and to their back, the walls merge to form a seamless layer or riddled ice and rock.

 

“We can’t go anywhere else, we’re walled in.”

 

“Can we create our own opening?”

 

She punches the wall that does not tremble to her bruised fist.

 

“Afraid not.”

 

“We’ll have to scale it then. Go over this. From up there, we should be able to see the layout and make our way out.”

 

Their palms blister bruise as they make their way up. Michael gave a final tug, pushing his body up to hoist himself on top of the wall. His companion breathes in deeply, surveying their surroundings.

 

“We can make it out by following this wall. It’s a trail to an entrance.” Hopefully it is the correct exit and not to another frozen wonderland.

 

They travel along the path, careful to maintain their balance on the slippery, narrow undergrowth. Michael’s cane comes specifically handy in this cane, the hollow inside thudding on the ground, alerting him for obstacles and potholes.

 

A tug on his sleeve. “We’ve reached the end,” she announces. “There’s only one thing left to do.” She holds onto his arm tightly, cutting sharp corners on his top.

 

“Jump.”

 

He’s done this a million of times in training, in dance exercise, in the Nest. He leaps up, the rush of the air above his feet. He is flying for a second.

 

Even in crouching position, he skids to a stop a few feet away, landing on his side. Definitely scrapping his knees.

 

Michael gets up, brushes, his hands on his pants, dusting away the dirt. He looked up to her, her turn.

 

“Come on down.”

 

Hearing no reaction, he shouts again.

 

“Hey, co-“

 

“You go on!”

 

This is certainly not part of the plan. “I already said before, I’m not going without you – “

 

“I made my choice.” Her fatalism is not understandable to him, but it only has to make sense to her. She had failed to complete her mission, and she had to return. This is the only way for her to go back.

 

Rubbing the falling tears away, she screwed her face into what she thought was a fierce expression. “Now you make yours. I will not be responsible for letting the person he cares about most die.” She will be generous in his favour because she knows now that she cannot win.

 

“What is your name?”

 

Because secrets is power, and power is value, and value is worth. She is shameless. Holding her face up close, he could almost picture those clear eyes.

 

“I’ve met you before. In the previous round.”

 

“What?”

 

Lipa whispers right into his ear, a musical chime ringing a morbid lullaby.

 

She smiled a smile that could kiss hearts goodbye. This is one thing that belonged to her and no one else, and she was taking the secret to her grave.

 

“You’re still a strange one.”

 

At the last second they were allowed inside, she pushes Michael into the opening. The jaws close before Michael can reach out, sealing her inside.

 

He doesn’t have time to ask her who she is talking about that means so much to her and he means to him before he also gets swallowed into the dark ray of light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: 
> 
> Comments are appreciated as always. I am also open to requests for drabbles. State the theme and character and/or pairing. I’ll see what I can cook up.
> 
> Soundtrack
> 
> 1\. Run Boy Run by Woodkid  
> 2\. Stillness of the Mind by Abel Korzeniowski  
> 3\. Raven by Do As Infinity  
> 4\. Halcyon And On And On by Orbital  
> 5\. Lullaby for Cain by Sinead O’Connor  
> 6\. Superman’s Dead by Our Lady Peace  
> 7\. Enigmatism by Mike Oldfield   
> 8\. Do You Crash by Bonnie Pink  
> 9\. Nothing And Nowhere by The Birthday Massacre

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Notes: Any resemblance to actual places is an interpretation of existing places, history and culture. I hope you enjoyed the story. Feedback is appreciated, especially critiques.
> 
> Looking for a second pair of eyes who would help to beta. I can also be a beta for other writers.


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